


and They said to me,

by de_Trices



Series: Dynasty [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF James Potter, BAMF Lily Evans Potter, Family, Gen, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Nercomancer!Harry, Self-Discovery, Self-Healing, Slow Updates, friendship? who is she?, harry has trust issues, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22762222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/de_Trices/pseuds/de_Trices
Summary: His voice was filled with wonder. Hushed, though it easily silenced all other voices that surrounded them. “You’ve been marked by Death, boy.”"...I know."
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Series: Dynasty [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1682407
Comments: 43
Kudos: 321





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be uploaded whenever I have the time, since I still have a lot of exams to worry about. I'll be able to focus more once the summer holidays come around. This is also my first fanfiction on this site, so go easy on me, yeah? Comments and a kudos would obviously be appreciated, along with any constructive criticism-
> 
> with that being said, enjoy.

Staring down the cooling corpses that were sprawled haphazardly across the marble floors filled him with a sort of apathy he had no clue he had the capacity of feeling. 7 years of hardships, tears of joy- friendships and adventures had suddenly gone down the drain as though it was little more than a foggy dream which, with the barest of mentions would have his lips twitching involuntarily with something akin to fondness and yet here he stood, watching their blood seep out on the centuries old floor. Watching as it dried and crusted against their damp clothes, turning to a musty burgundy the longer it stayed exposed to the air around them. 

6 years of stumbling through the ancient halls of Hogwarts and an additional year of running from the utter hell that was the war (which had been pending for far too long) and yet, as Harry gazed upon their faces, frozen as they were in eternal horror, he could not find it within him to care.

Perhaps he should have seen this all coming, after all, these past few days were something of an eye opener to him and their constant fidgeting within his presence made it all the more difficult for him to trust them, though for the sake of their friendship, he restrained himself from saying anything that he might have come to regret later. Had he confronted them earlier, maybe it would have never gotten to this point but if the two people who he had come to trust the very most would attempt something that they had once sworn vehemently against, it really did make him wonder what sort of life he had been living up until this very point. 

That nearly everyone he’d ever made the mistake of getting close to would always betray him in the end, one way or another. The emblem that had appeared on the apple of his cheek now burned with vigour as his verdant eyes washed over the mass of fiery orange hair tangled with once voluptuous curls of brown - things that he’d once remember of his friends with such adoration now only filled him with contempt. 

It was disgusting to think that despite his gut feeling, something that had saved his life countless times, he had chosen to trust his  _ friends  _ but here they now lay cold on the usually meticulously cleaned marble floors of Grimmauld Place. 

“The filthy mudblood and blood traitor deserved it!” A high, yet cold laughter reverberated through the hall, snapping Harry out of his daze. He tore his eyes from the lifeless bodies to locate the voice, nearly faltering when he noticed that it came from a portrait that he was very familiar with. It was Walburga Black that had spoken, Sirius’ mother, but he wasn’t given much time to ponder this fact as another voice soon chimed in, though this was a voice he had not heard in all of his years living in that very same manor. 

“To think they believed they could harm a Black in his own home!” His voice crooned with barbarous glee, his laugh cold and ruthless just as it was with all other Blacks, should someone dare to challenge them. The lone Potter snapped his head in the other direction, only for his eyes to meet the steel slate of an old Head of the Black family. It was not Arcturus Black, like he had expected but rather his father, Phineas Nigellus Black, one of headmasters that had graced his former school. 

Harry’s brows knitted together in mild confusion at his words, because while he was technically a Black through his paternal grandmother, he was still a half-blood and as far as he knew, that was more than enough to have the entire family jumping with joy should he have died. Though, now actually thinking back on it, it was most likely the fact that he was the last of the Black line, other than Draco who was pathetically unworthy of the Lordship (the ring had hexed him so harshly, he was in St. Mungos for little over a week) and so his death would mean the end of the Black legacy. 

Toujours Pur would mean nothing if the entire family was wiped off the face of the Earth’s surface, he thought with amusement lighting up his complexion, allowing his once darkened eyes to glow dimly with something other than despair for once. 

“I have to admit-” He began, now speaking to both portraits with a certain confidence in his voice, “That I’ve suspected them for quite a while, though I did hope that our friendship would help ease such thoughts from their mind. But I should have known that they were too weak to understand the sheer importance of my abilities...” He paced, polished dressing shoes clicking against the floor with each step he took, “I should have known that they were too easily controlled by fear that they’d think to raise their wands against me, despite knowing who I am.  _ What  _ I have become-!” His voice slowly grew, though it remained firm and collected with not even the slightest of emotions to colour the dull air which surrounded him.

“And what, pray tell, have you become..?” Phineas questioned with a cool nonchalance, though the curiosity in his painted eyes gave away his reluctant interest. Although this was their very first interaction with each other, it was not the first time he had seen Harry. He’d seen him first when he was a meek little second year student, accused of such heinous crimes even at the tender age of 12 and yet he refused to bend his neck to the authorities and adamantly defended his innocence - so then again, maybe he wasn’t really all that meek, rather that he was humble. 

Because even in his wizened age, and semi-consciousness due to being a portrait and shadow of his former self, he could tell that despite his young age, Harry had already become a worthy adversary, if his triumph over Slytherin’s Beast wasn’t proof enough. Suffice to say, he believed there was not a single thing that this boy could pull out that would surprise him, as he was sure he had seen it all at this point, yet as the boy turned his head to meet his eyes with a leveled stare, he found himself gasping- the noise drowning out with waves of whispers sounding from the dozens of portraits that lined the walls.

He watched with stupefied fascination as the glamour fell away from Harry’s cheek, revealing a symbol which had been deemed as little more than folklore among the pureblooded children. 

“Death’s Mark…” His voice was filled with wonder. Hushed, though it easily silenced all other voices that surrounded them. “You’ve been marked by Death, boy.”

An almost bittersweet smile spread across his healthily flushed cheeks, contrasting against the pitch blackness of the brand on his skin which seemed to swallow every inch of light that it was met with. Harry allowed a soft sigh to slip past his lips, looking back to his former friends with despondency clear in his expression. “..I know-“

~~~~~

**_6 Days After The War, 1 Month Before Present_ **

The second the war had been confirmed over, Harry was quick to apparate back to Grimmauld Place in order to maintain some semblance of peace for himself before he had to face the music. He had spent the first day reaffirming the wards and adding some new ones here and there with his own creations before he had finally allowed himself to relax and take a breather from the monstrosity that he had to face in that year while on the run from Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

Just one or two days off should do it, he thought to himself with a satisfied hum as he allowed himself to further ease up in the steaming bath he had one of the house elves ready for him. He had a few others purchase some better clothes for himself as well so he’d have something other than his torn rags to wear after he cleaned himself up.

After all these years of skulking around as though he were a pauper despite the mountains of gold in his coffers, it was time to splurge a little - he deserved it, didn’t he? For once, he found himself in the position where he could step back and say that enough was enough, and could take control of his actions without having to worry about the backlash it could have on countless people. 

Harry found that he was becoming stuck with a sort of mindset since he was a little boy which prevented him from ever thinking of himself first, but instead trying his best to fulfil the needs of the people surrounding him, which had probably made him the perfect person to manipulate. 

So, he decided that everyone could wait a little longer for him to get his priorities sorted out, and then, if he felt like it, he’d make a public appearance to strengthen their win. Hell, he’d even testified for Draco's innocence before he barricaded himself from everyone’s sight. But make no mistake, he did not do it out of the kindness of his heart. Well, Harry paused as he rinsed his body of all the suds and grime, maybe he did do it mainly out of the kindness of his heart but their was also the fact that Draco owned him one, and as far as he knew, that was a huge thing among wizards, especially wizards out of Slytherin. 

Maybe if he had let the Sorting Hat place him in Slytherin, he would have turned out the same as the rest but here he was, a Snake dressed in garbs that were only meant for the bravest of the Lions - with both bowing to him and only him, even if some of them were once his foes. 

The Saviour threw back his head, filling the steamy bathroom with a tinkling laugh which would have many swooning at the sound, regardless of the cruel tone which seeped into the laugh. A half-blood indeed. Who was it that said that having ‘filth’ in your blood wasn’t a good thing? Because the last person to preach such was Voldemort, and he himself was of muggle heritage. You had the bourgeoisie of the Wizarding World, the Pure of the Pure, like the Malfoys- like the Blacks and the Flints. 

You also had the utter Filth of society, like his mother- like Hermione and Ted Tonks, and you had  _ them _ , a category which he and Voldemort shared. 

“Us..” Harry echoed breathily, pupils dilated with wonder and awe, goosebumps rising on his skin as the lingering natural magic caressed him, crackling against the soft of his cheeks and neck. And you had  _ them _ , the Tainted.

After that brief mental debacle, he didn’t spend much longer in the water and so slowly dragged himself out of the tub which was twice the size of the prefect baths back at school. He didn’t mind that he was leaving trails of water with each step, knowing that it would be cleaned up soon, and so he picked up his heated down as he began to dab his body free of any water. 

Harry would dry his hair magically but knowing the texture of his hair, it would cause nothing but a disaster so he’d have to towel dry it instead to avoid any struggles with brushing his hair in the morning. As expected, his new clothes had already been washed and heated for him to wear- laid across his four poster bed in a set. Usually, he would have requested his clothes in the bathroom to get changed but when it was the comforts of his own home with no one to bother him, he couldn’t really care. 

From what he could see of the material, it was extremely expensive- probably worth more money than Harry had ever spent in his life- nevermind on one set of robes. It was mainly green, with silver and gold accents that decorated the material tastefully. There was just enough detail to make it worthy of a Lord, though not nearly enough to be considered gaudy. Just the way he liked it. Just as he moved to grab his clothes, a sudden wave of vertigo ran through his body, followed by nausea which he often likened to the feeling of eating far too much at once after years of abstinence. 

The next thing he knew was that his knees had hit the floor, arms bracing his head against the side of his bed. “K-Kreacher..?” He found himself slurring his words as blotches of black began to stain his vision. It was a good thing that he had thought to protect his head too, because soon after he had heard the familiar crack of apparition fill his room, his body slumped off the edge and hit the floor, his consciousness ebbing away along with it.

When Harry had eventually come to, it wasn’t in his bedroom that he expected to find himself lying down on but rather a dark abyss which seemed to go on and on no matter which direction he steered himself in. The darkness seemed to engulf him but he didn’t find him succumbing to whatever mind numbing torture this was meant to be. Maybe he had eaten something that had been injected with a potion? He was quick to rid himself of the thought, as practically everyone knew that there was no possible way that someone could have slipped him anything as he had been preparing his own meals these past few days.

“ _ Harry~.. _ ”

The former soldier snapped his head around, impossibly green eyes glowing with delirium that hadn’t been present just a moment before. “Who said that?” While his voice remained just barely above a whisper, it echoed through, never quite seeming to reach an end to the darkness he found himself swimming in. 

Thousands of thoughts sifted through his mind yet none seemed logical enough fit well enough to describe what was going on. “Answer me!” He demanded, his tone that was once pleasant and demure had changed into firm and commanding - a side that people often saw of Harry during the war. It was either be harsh and firm or be gentle and understanding and get many killed for being so lax in his orders and rules. He had saved many lives as he led the Light side to victory, but that didn’t change the fact that many people still died when it could have been avoided entirely. 

It was widely assumed that he had forgiven the now deceased headmaster of countless pass transgressions, his negligence during Harry’s childhood, for example but more importantly the fact that hid such an important piece of information from him since well - second year. Now that he thought back on it, it was probably a smart move on Albus’ side since by the time Harry found out, it was far too late to join the other side in hopes for protection. Albus had left him in a tight spot, though jokes on him, he ended up surviving anyways, and had somehow managed to retain the ability of speaking to snakes - not that anyone knew about that, of course. 

“ _ Peace, young one. You have pleased Us, Ha-rry~... _ ” the voice was unlike any other, seeming to have a blend of several different people speaking at once. All separate yet curiously one as they spoke, eldritch whispers filling any empty spaces.

By all rights, he should have been unnerved - terrified, even. But at that very moment, he could have never felt so at ease and so comforted all at once. It was all so very bizarre, and had this been any other situation, he would’ve been quick to thrash away, and scream even if no one could hear him. 

And so, disregarding any logical thoughts, he reached out into the ever growing darkness, searching and seeking for the thing - the person who filled him with such unadulterated joy that everyone else he knew had failed so miserably to achieve.

A low keening sound rumbled from deep within him as the desperation to reach consolidation grew stronger by each passing moment, almost becoming unbearable. 

Something bitter began to brew deep in the coils of his stomach as he realised just how he was behaving. It was laughable to see how easily he submitted to the first person that made him feel this way; was he so touch starved that he would surrender not for the person who’s been a constant source of terror throughout the entirety of his life, but for an unknown the very second they spoke to him with sweet words. 

Had Harry been a lesser man, he would have easily believed that he was weak, but he had been presented with such soothing serenades once upon a time, and he had never -  _ never  _ begged for a single thing in his life no matter how sorely tempted he may have been.

At first it was with the promise of his parents, to which he’d shut down just as fast as it had left his nemesis’ disfigured lips - later it would be with the proposal of becoming great should he have chosen to support 16 year old Tom Riddle in his endeavours, and we all knew how that ended. This was only the tip of the iceberg, but whoever this voice belonged to - whatever it belonged to, it sounded like coming home. 

It sounded like utter completion, as though Harry had been waiting for this very moment since the day he left his mother’s womb, cursing the fates that he should be born to a life that would bring him nothing but misery. “ _ Wake- _ ” Its breath fanned over his cheek, causing a burning sensation to spread across his skin. The pain wasn’t all too bad, but it was strong enough to have him wake up in his large canopy bed, panting from exertion, though there were no signs of fatigue on his body. 

The stinging was still clinging to his skin, and so he hurriedly twisted over to the vanity just across his bed, hands slamming down on the marble dresser as his eyes roved over his appearance. There it was.

That symbol which had haunted more than half of his year was printed in a thick black, not unlike the inky tartaros his conscience had sent him to. Harry first raised his fingers delicately to touch the marked skin, testing to see whether or not it would smudge under the friction, but when it remained in its position, he had given up any hope that it would ever disappear. 

There was the possibility that it was water soluble, but since he couldn’t even magic the insignia away, the chance of it being erased with hot water and soap seemed very far fetched. 

Now, if it had been his 6th year at Hogwart, the first thing he would have done was owl Hermione and the Weasely’s for help. But after fighting in a war, and against his mortal enemy alone for the upteenth time in one decade, he had developed quite a bit of independence, meaning that he wouldn’t contact them unless he was absolutely sure what he was dealing with. 

After being exposed to the Wizarding world, he was quick to learn that he was to expect the unexpected, because the new world that he was opened to hardly fit the norms that were so engraved into his brain, courtesy of the Durselys. As if it were any other people that hid his entire nature from him, he thought with a huff. Running his fingers through his curled locks, he flicked his other wrist to cast a Tempus charm.

_ 21:03, Tuesday. _

Brilliant, he had been out for a whole day, and then some. Harry was quick to get dressed, making sure to wash his face and brush his teeth before finally leaving his chamber. He brushed his fingers over his branded cheek once more, this time concealing it with a glamour that was keyed into his magic, and his magic only, just to make sure that it wouldn’t fall away if he didn’t intend it to.

It was a relatively low-powered glamour, or at least compared to his magic stores, it was - so he wouldn’t have to re-do it until, perhaps, a week later. “Mipsy, send something light for me to eat up to my study.” Harry near grimaced as the words left his lips, feeling something inside of him anguish at the thought of him sounding anything like the pureblooded Lords that he had learnt to hate. He didn’t have anything personal against them, other than the fact that a large majority of them had attempted to kill him once or twice, but Harry didn’t really hold grudges over things like that - it was more out of habit that he seemed to dislike the whole lot. 

Flicking off invisible lint from his robes, he proceeded to make his way to the family library, the fine material of his clothes seemingly billow behind him with each step. He wasn’t ignorant to the stares he was getting from those in the portraits, since it was near impossible to notice after all the years that he had been in the building, but it was only till recently that those stares of anger and disgust had turned into something similar to morbid curiosity. 

They’d heard whispers, of course, of how this boy had not only escaped the grasp of a dark wizard that an entire generation of Blacks had pledged themselves to, but had managed to actually kill him. This little boy who appeared in their halls, nervous and skittish as he was, with jade eyes brimming with a tale so mournful, most would never meet his gaze out of sheer discomfort. 

How could this young man who walked with the confidence of the most renowned warlocks and emitted the same immense power that reminded them of the Gods they were often taught about as small children be the same boy that was dressed in rags, malnourished and pathetically uneducated in their ways? It was said that war changed everyone for the worst, turning even the most kindhearted of humans into the foulest of beasts, but it seemed that Harry defied all odds. 

‘This was a miracle child’, they’d mutter amongst each other while he was slumbering, now watching him begrudgingly with respect. Although they were adamant that blood still mattered, they had all agreed on one thing. Harry Potter - no, Potter- _ Black  _ was an exception to this very rule, as he were with all other things. 

The door slammed shut behind him, several clicks sounded to show that the wards had slotted back into their places with his entrance. A week or two ago, this entire library was covered in more than an inch thick layer of dust, and air was drier than the Sahara on a particularly hot day - trust him, he’d know. 

Taking a quick look around, he hummed in approval at the sight of the carefully cleaned and restored shelves. The scent of fresh parchment lingered in the air, hinting to him that the books had probably been remade and printed just as he had ordered Lola, his personal house elf, to do. It wouldn’t do to have him flicking through ancient tomes, only to have them fall apart in his hands due to his haste.

A few days prior, he had made it a priority to search through the library and catalogue all of the books for better use later on, and it was a damn good thing that he did, because looking at the rows and rows of shelves - he just wouldn’t have known where to begin. Harry remembered that the much more obscure books were right at the back, along with layers upon layers of hexes that, had he been new to the layout, he would’ve accidentally tripped up. 

The Hallows - that would be categorised as Death Magic, would it not? Harry trailed his fingers along the new spines of the books, eyes flickering over the different titles, and every so often, selecting a book and placing it on the ever growing pile in his arms. 

Once he was satisfied with his selection, he turned right back around, almost excited to begin digging through the ancient texts. While his grades from school may state that he is a barely above average student, it was not really the case, for Harry was the type of student who would be guaranteed at least an Acceptable if he didn’t bother to revise for his exams - it was just that nothing the school taught him actually interested him enough for him to put any effort into. So classes History of Magic and Divination were nothing but utter rubbish to him. 

Potions was a whole mess in and of itself; his experience with Snape left a sour taste in his mouth, and so even when Horace Slughorn had taken over, he hadn’t bothered with any of the potions, which was a real shame considering the amount of potential it actually had. Classes like Defence Against the Dark Arts though, were classes that he was unbeatable in, and he took some pride in the knowledge that no one had come even close to beating the score that he had gotten in his NEWTs. 

While most of his peers had decided to go back to Hogwarts to finish up their last year and to take their finals, he had taken his NEWTs soon after the Battle of Hogwarts ended, wanting to be able to rest as soon as possible before things began to stir up once more. Knowing how pathetic Magical World seemed to be getting by the year, it wouldn’t take too long before someone was slandering his name on the Daily Prophet again.

Once he had finally made it back to his study, he placed the books into one neat pile before sinking into the comforts of his chair. There was food that Mispy had placed down for him, coated in heating charms so there wasn’t really any rush to eat just then. He brushed his hair out of his eyes, clipping them out of the way with a few bobby pins before he finally reached to grab a book from the top of the pile. Harry had actually ordered the books so that the most basic overview was at the top, and the much more intricate, specific branches of Death Magic were closer to the bottom. 

That way he’d be able to work himself through the pile without having to reference other books to expand on some theories that he didn’t quite meet before. 

**What Is Death? And Why Do We Fear It?** **_By Klara Lobismah_ **

“Them-” He absentmindedly corrected, eyeing the dull cover with vague interest. The book would just go over most of the theories that surrounded Death, and nothing to actually do with Death Magic, but he still found himself intrigued. He wondered if Voldemort had ever come across said book, and if it was the reason behind his irrational fear of death? “Only one way to find out..” Harry mumbled to himself, opening up the book and flicking over to the page of contents.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: No beta, so bear with me. Again, slow updates- exam season is among us.

**_Death and Its Children_ **

Bewildered, Harry read the title of the chapter again. He had read through 63 different theories on just Death alone, and this one would make his 64th and final one. The meal that was left beside him was long finished and cleared up, probably hours ago, if the grandfather clock to his right was set correctly. The title seemed fairly obscure, and considering the fact that none of the theories seemed to match up with what he experienced, he was of the opinion that this chapter would hardly give him an epiphany. 

Glancing back at the door of his study longingly, he imagined himself taking his broom out to the pitches for a quick late night flight. It was past 2am now, meaning that he had been cooped up in his study for a little over 5 hours, excusing any bathroom breaks in between. He had already slaved over and made notes on more than sixty concepts, one more was hardly going to hurt - and so with a heavily dramatic sigh, he began to read the freshly inked notes. As he passed through the book, he had noticed that the entries were written in multiple styles which meant that the theories had been directly copied from someone else - all into one single book. 

But why? Why were these 64 theories so important that it had to be filed in one thick book - what made them different from all the other tales that were told across the globe?

_-_ **_and It marked only one that pleased him - the favoured. The one with a smile double-edged as It’s scythe and eyes which would reflect Itself like no other. They would be branded like cattle, yet would wear this blemish as though it were something to be proud of. We were taught that this was no more than a child’s tale to keep offspring from ever misbehaving, but don’t all legends have a starting point?_ ** _-_

With this, he leaned his elbows on the desk, fingers knitting into each other as he pondered the excerpt that he had just read. It was awfully ambiguous, and definitely didn’t sound all that reliable up until he had read about the mark. After skimming through each theory, he had finally found something that resembled his predicament, if only by a little bit. ‘ _A smile double-edged as It’s scythe and eyes which would reflect Itself like no other_ ’ - now, what in Circe’s name did that mean? 

The book only spoke of one, and he found himself familiar with the title of ‘the favoured’ as he had come across it earlier on; just a brief mention so it was nothing substantial. After he had skimmed through the rest of the text, he had deemed it useless, excluding the small smidge of information on the mark, or rather the _brand_ as the author had so quaintly put it. Harry slid the book over to the other side of the desk and stood up from his seat, stretching his arms above this head with a soft hum - yes, a good hour long fly would perhaps clear his thought process. Maybe something glaringly obvious would come to light afterwards, but for now, he was going to unwind.

The ground outside was damp from the rainfall that had ended about an hour or so ago, which for him, made the best kind of weather for late night flying. He just loved the fresh scent of dew that still lingered in the air, feeling for his warm cheeks and cooling them with iced caresses. It was freezing outside, and in retrospect he probably should have brought a thicker coat with him, but he just loved to feel the numbing temperatures which would eat at the tips of his fingers and his nose. And with that thought, he launched himself in the air without as much as a peep, the only noises being produced would him ripping through the wind, only increasing his velocity when his thoughts began to trail back to the book that he had just read.

In all honesty, he didn’t quite feel like searching through that entire stack of tomes if he was only going to get just a sentence worths out of it, and quite frankly, he didn’t really have the time for that either. His bright green eyes trailed after the conjured snitch which glowed lightly in the darkness of the night, a little added feature since it would be far too difficult to spot even with the fact that he had gotten his vision corrected in the middle of the war. 

Harry was torn to see his glasses go, but even he knew that they would become too much of a liability during battles. He was actually quite surprised that no one had thought to summon his glasses, as that would have practically rendered him useless, but he was obviously thankful that most of the people that he had fought against were idiots. 

Taking a quick turn to the right, he purposefully missed the snitch, not really wanting to end the game already. The sun was beginning to rise, but he couldn’t really care about his sleeping schedule right now since he had plenty of time to correct it. Months of waking up at the oddest of times would do awful things to anyone, but Harry had gotten so used to it, he imagined that it would take just as long for it to go back to normal. 

It wasn’t that he was being kept up by nightmares either, like he’d assume was the case for many of his comrades - but rather the paranoia of getting attacked in the midst of his sleep which would keep him awake at the dead of night, no matter how many dreamless sleep potions he would take. It had gotten to the point where he had become totally immune to the potion, and while it meant that no one could ever slip him that and have it work, but it also made falling asleep increasingly difficult. 

On that note, it was probably a good idea to pay for a Potions Master to key a Dreamless Sleep directly to him, but he found himself dismissing the idea as soon as it crossed his mind. He wouldn’t dare to let anyone mess around with any potions he planned on consuming.

It may appear like he had trust issues, but to him, he was just being constantly vigilant. The corners of his lips curled up into an amused smile, the dimples on his cheeks just ever so slightly peaking through. As batty as Moody was, Harry was quite fond of the man and admired him quite a bit. The now deceased Order member would always be on guard, and had helped him out of many difficult situations up until his death.

For an ex-auror, he found that dying of a heart attack was rather anticlimactic but he supposed it was better than dying after a torture session with a few Death Eaters. The 18 year old found himself shuddering at the thought of having to stay in the presence of Voldemort longer than a few hours; he could barely stand his presence even 20 metres away, nevermind having to see his magic-distorted face every day, routinely.

Plucking the snitch right out from above him, he began to lower himself to the ground, basking as the intensity of the wind began to pick up, running through his locks freely. Harry noted to himself that his hair was still in the same grips from when he had first started going through that book, and realised that it was much more manageable when he had it clipped out of his face. 

He hummed gently, twirling his fingers around a stray curled lock of inky black hair - he quite liked the thought of just littering his hair with some bobby pins, but that was hardly appropriate for any front page pictures on the Daily Prophet, or any newspaper for that matter. He would have to find a much more permanent way of getting his hair to misbehave - anything other than growing his hair out. The young Lord grimaced as the thought of having long hair - looking good with long flowing locks or not, he just knew that it would take a lot of effort on his part to maintain healthy hair when it was long, and he just wasn’t ready for that sort of commitment. 

Harry rolled his eyes at his thought process. He really must be quite far gone if he’s beginning to talk about his hair as if it were a girlfriend. And no, he was not being overdramatic. It was almost as if it were yesterday that he had been in Hogwarts, and he still vividly remembered the constant mental breakdowns that Hermione would have over her hair as there were barely any products or procedures that would cater to her particular hair texture. Of course, now, she had learned the best ways to take care of her hair - but Harry couldn’t say the same for himself, as he found that his hair was even more difficult to tame than hers. 

He was quick to realise, however, that his hair looked its best when he hadn’t tried to do anything to it, so he would stick that way until anything better came along. 

Once he had entered the manor, he placed his broom to the side, watching as it quickly vanished to the storage room within the second. Harry had just spent an honest to God 5 minutes thinking about his hair, and if that didn’t know that Pure-blood vanity was contagious, he didn’t know what would. “Master Potter-Black?” A gentle, yet shaky voice inquired to his right, successfully snapping him out of whatever tangent he was going to get himself into.

His cool gaze flicked to the corner of his peripheral vision and at Mispy, before glancing back to the clasp of his robes, undoing them quickly and placing them to the side. “What is that you are doing awake..? It is not your day to be on night duty-” Just as those words had left his lips, he had finally noticed that it wasn’t just Mispy that was awake, but even the house elves who he had rarely spoken to were peaking through the corner of the lounge room. 

The fire seemed to have been lit hours before he had even left the house, so they must have been awake since he had woken from that little state he was in. “What is it, then..?” Now he was curious, and a little concerned. Perhaps something had happened while he was in the library - an intruder, maybe?

“Your magic, Master Potter-Black- it’s… Well, it’s-” she began to answer him, albeit a little nervously - though she didn’t really finish what she had wanted to say as another house elf had cut into the conversation, his large eyes wide with worry - just as the rest of them. “Yous magics be whipping around. It bes shaking the manor!” Harry sat back, eyebrows furrowing together at the little house elf. His magic was fluctuating..? To the point where it was disturbing the magic of the manor?

In all of his years of using his magic actively, he’d never experienced his magic behaving as was described, though it did make some sense since he had been feeling a little off centre after he had woken up. He raised his fingers, subconsciously rubbing at the symbol that had been burned onto his cheek, not that anyone could see was he was rubbing at though. 

As much of a concern this was, it was easily solved - or so, he had once read that it was. Meditation would stop the fluctuating for the most part, or at least hold it off for a couple more days so he’d have plenty of time to get to the root of the problem. 

“Alright then, everyone except for whoever’s turn it is to be on watch go back to sleep - you’re going to need your energy since we’ll be having some company in the next few days.” Getting up from his seat in front of the fireplace, he proceeded to walk out of the lounging room, his hands buried within the pockets of his trousers - how terribly plebian of him, he knows - but old habits die hard. Besides, hardly anyone was going to chastise him for having his hands in his pockets after all that he’s done for society.

They’d be too blinded by his ever fading scar to even take note of his mannerisms, so he was safe - or at least until a member of a pure-blooded family saw him walk with that confident swagger of his; you know the one. 

Harry just knew it annoyed them whenever he would flaunt his confidence in such a way, and once upon a time he might have purposely avoided behaving in that same manner, but right now he couldn’t care less if they thought him cocky. What he needed so desperately all those years ago was just a little self-confidence, and now that he had that in abundance, he was never going to go back to that little boy who once turned pale at the thought of angering any professors.

Of course, Severus had always been that one exception - but that was a given if you considered the way the greasy haired Potion’s Professor used to torment him. He was practically asking for someone to disregard his rules with the way he swept around his classroom like a god damned dungeon bat, sticking his abnormally large nose into matters that were, pretty clearly, not any of his business. 

He couldn’t even count the amount of times Severus had ruined everything with his presence on both of his hands. One event in particular was during the third year, when Snape had barged right in the middle of Remus and Sirius explaining the situation to him, which in turn dragged out the whole conversation up until the point Remus had started to transform. 

Had it not been for him, they’d have made it back to the castle in time to deliver Pettigrew right on his sorry arse. That way they wouldn’t have had to deal with the dementors or have the entirety of 4th year happen. Pettigrew had gotten away, and that ultimately led to the chain of events which ended in Harry essentially being sent out for slaughter. 

He supposed that he should be thankful for the odd few times that Snape had ‘saved’ his life, but at this point, there were far too many things piled up against him for Harry to even feel slight remorse for the manner in which he died. Brutal as it was, he just didn’t really care for the professor. 

That was a lie, he was somewhat fond of the git - but he certainly wouldn’t be naming any of his kids after him, that was for sure. A startled bark of laughter echoed through the halls as he made his way to a different section of the house. He could just imagine it, _Albus Severus Potter,_ he nearly snorted just at the thought of it. As if he would ever have either of these names sully his family. 

His own father would have been rolling in his grave if that name ever reached to wherever he was now. Harry sincerely hoped that whoever he married would talk him out of naming any of his kids such ridiculous names. There was probably a universe out there where some pathetic sod named his kids after those fools, but in any case, that would never be him. Off topic- Harry was quick to dismiss any irrelevant thoughts from his mind since he didn’t want any of them interfering when he actually tried to meditate. 

He did try to meditate once before, so he was somewhat confident that this would be quite a good session to just sit back and get to know his core and just to relax, really. And so he sat himself in front of a mirror, but most importantly, his back faced against the wall and surrounded by lit candles which formed a semi-circle. It was mostly just an extra precaution he had put in place in the case that his magic didn’t calm down but grew more aggressive.

‘ _To relax’_ was the end goal, except that when he sat down, he found that his mind would often drift away right back to the small passage that had stuck with him earlier. It was a little disappointing to him that he couldn't go back into that same state of mind, but with all the things going on - what with the final battle and the Hallows’ symbol branded on his cheek, he supposed it was to be expected. This was, however, going to take a lot of time trying to come to terms with it if he couldn’t even sit still for a moment and clear his mind.

How very disappointing, indeed.

With his eyes still gently closed, he tilted his head back every so slightly just to take in the lingering scent of incense and oddly noted that, although he had never meditated in Grimmauld Place before, the incense used smelt rather familiar. It was a scent that tugged at his memories, and yet, try as he might, he just could not bring forward any links or connections. Before he knew it, his thoughts had strayed back to the Hallows, and he found himself wondering if Dumbledore, or even Voldemort had experienced the same situation when they were in possession of the Elderwand - and, hadn’t Dumbledore owned his father’s invisibility cloak for a decade before handing it over to Harry? 

But he didn’t see such symbols maring their cheek as it did his, so what made his specific situation so special? It couldn’t have been because of the fact that all three relics had once passed through his hands as, once again, the same applied to the former headmaster. When rounding this all back to the book, and the _double-edged_ smile along with _poisonous_ eyes, he was beginning to think that it sounded more like a prophecy than anything else. 

Harry groaned softly, leaning back so that the back of his head rested against the cold wall. Why was it that he always seemed to find himself involved in a prophecy? Granted, it would have only just been the second one, but even the first one was far too much for him. Quite frankly, he wanted nothing to do with Death _or_ Their Hallows. For once, he just wanted to be himself - _just Harry_ \- with nothing more than his abilities tagged along to his name. Not any of this Boy-Who-Lived or Master of Death nonsense.

As though Death themself had been listening to his internal monologue, a sharp sting ran through his cheek - coincidentally bisecting the symbol soon after that thought. Other than a slight twitch of discomfort, he gave no signs of paint and continued to remain leaning against the wall, contemplating the Hallows. Death. **Death** . **_Death_ **. Harry found himself chuckling at the hilarity of it all, arms now crossed over his chest as he began to feel the familiar dregs of fatigue slither into his conscience. 

Did such a being even exist, or was this ‘ _Death’_ that these books speak of just a figment of their imagination? Overzealous wizards and witches looking far too deep into a topic that they know nothing of? Had this been back in 5th year, he would’ve thought that death was just the end of the line for all lives, and that once you were gone, that was it. In fact, the loss of his Godfather cemented this belief when it had finally sunk in that he was never going to return. 

Then the incident while they were in the cave happened, and suddenly, things made sense. Bringing back people from death was most certainly possible, but they would never be the same people you once knew. For a brief moment, he felt a flicker of hope well up within his heart as he pondered the Infer as they were apparating back to Hogwarts - maybe if he worked long enough, he could perhaps create a method which would restore someone to their original self, but this train of thought had him secretly fear himself. 

Necromancy was a _dark art_ and there was no way he could betray everything that he was fighting for just because of the selfish desire of wanting to have a family for once. 

Besides, according to all the other books that he had read before, to be able to perform necromancy you’d have to have a particular type of magic - family magic, which would enable you to access the branch. Family magic which only belonged to the Peverells. And a Peverell he was not- 

His eyes flickered underneath his closed lids. Unless he was related to the Peverells…? Had the symbol of the Hallows not been engraved within the inscriptions on his parents’ gravestones? But then what family magicks did he have - or rather what family magicks did the Peverells have that passed onto their descendants?

The answers felt as though they were on the tip of his tongue, and that the connection was right there for him to see, if only he could just _open_ his eyes to recognise it for what it was. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face at an agonisingly slow pace as he breathed out softly, trying to persuade the flow of his magic out at a much more consistent rate rather than the varying energy levels he seemed to be giving out earlier. A candle to his right flicked off.

Had Harry not become sensitive to the heat due to an entire decade of living in a frigidly cold cupboard, he would have not felt the diminishing flame as he was surrounded by plenty of others. But he _had_ noticed, although he definitely wasn’t going to let his focus waver considering that after so long, he was finally getting a better grasp on his magic. And so, Harry brushed any thought of the candle away from his mind, continuing to pool his magic right at the core of his very being whilst pondering the ideas of death and how it seemed to shroud the names of his ancestors.

The Necromancer Three, is what name had been given to them, according to numerous texts that he had read. The Necromancer Three, yet only one of the brothers wielded any sort of necromantic magic, so was the title at all accurate? Three branches of Peverells, one lineage wiped out, the second also wiped out with him being responsible for the last descendant’s death, and the third resides solely with him - but with his death, along will come the end of the Peverells. 

And he very well couldn’t let that happen, now could he? The relics that the lines held so dear could possibly hint at their specialisation - for example, Antioch had the Unbeatable Wand, so perhaps that was a form of battle magic. Cadmus had the resurrection stone so that clearly implied death magic, but what of Ignotus? 

All he had was an invisibility cloak to ‘hide himself from death’ - Harry’s eyes snapped wide open with irritation as the second to last candle snuffed itself out, leaving a singular wick glowing directly in front of him. Directly in front of the mirror.

His vibrant green eyes flickered over to his reflection with a sort of wildness he was not used to displaying, and his gazes roamed over his parallel visage, hungrily flickering over to the faint scar which he knew all too well. For a second, his breath caught in his lungs, eyes seeming to glow with the sudden realisation. 

A sharp exhale of shock permeated his lips, jubilant flush rising to his tanned cheeks. 

_Of course._

What was the magic that his beloved mother utilised for the sake of his life? What was it, if not for ‘love’ magic like Dumbledore had so heavily emphasised. Was it not blood magic? Sacrificial magic? And at the very core, something within him sung with the verbalisation. “Protective magic…” Harry uttered softly, voice as deceptively gentle as can be. As much as he loved his mother, she was a muggleborn and there was no way she could have accessed the tomes which would allow her to study blood magic, unless she married into a family which had vaults filled to the brim with them. Like the Potter vaults. He had yet to physically go over to Gringotts to check up on them but he received weekly bank statements after he had turned the legal age of 17, so he more or less knew their contents. 

With a flourish of his wrist, he silently vanished the incense and candles, even casting a freshening charm in the room to really cleanse it thoroughly. Rule number one of meditating in a magical environment was to ensure there was no contamination of magic. Yes, _contamination_. It was to prevent lingering magic moulding and affecting any charms in the room and whatnot, rendering the charm defective or altering it to have unexpected results. 

The likeliness of this ever happening was very rare, but it was still done anyway, just in case. It was like wiping down labs and sterilising them after every investigation or experiment in the muggle world - or just wiping down your Potion’s desk with a quick _scourgify_ , lest you doom another student to having their potion blow up in their face. Maybe that was why Finnigan seemed to singe his eyebrows off every other lesson. But then again, it did happen every other lesson, even those out of Potions. He was not to blame.

He briefly dusted off his robes of invisible lint before continuing out of the room. Definitely not his fault, even if Seamus would be the next person to use his desk - well, isn’t it a good habit to wipe down your area _before_ you begin any potion brewing? A small, mirthful smirk twitched at his lips as he remembered his school days with a fondness. 

Considering that his sleep schedule was completely messed up due to him passing out at random moments, he had decided that instead of trying to sleep or relax (as he had been doing for the past couple of days) he’d try to socialise a little more to get some sun on his skin, for once. And what better way to socialise than attending a ministry function that Hermione had pleaded for him to attend. 

The likeliness of him every showing to anything that meant talking to strangers was fairly low, but he supposed that it was better to show his face and an event that everyone was going to go to rather than him getting bombarded by news reporters the next time he set out to Diagon Alley. As much as he’d like to think that he could get around with a few notice-me-not charms, he knew that it wouldn’t be a good idea to sneak around so soon after the war.

Although it had ended a week ago, anxiety and suspicion was still extremely high, and if the Aurors were going to do their job right this time around, it would do them some good to be on high alert as well. There had been a few commotions caused in the more darker areas of Wizarding Society as a result of some of the more fanatical members of Voldemort’s little group - the ones who weren’t really involved in much either - that had spoken a bit too haughtily of a _Lord_ that had been defeated by his own curse, not once but _twice_. It would have been a little laughable had the entire situation not been so pathetic. Of course, the ones who got a little too mouthy were immediately arrested; it was clear that the bystanders weren’t taking any chances. 

Harry would have commended them had they not been part of the group which hadn’t raised so much of a finger when it came to their plight. In the end, it was mainly the students of Hogwarts that had defended themselves from fully grown Wizards - not even to mention their abysmal D.A.D.A classes. He felt such righteous indignation, not for himself, but for his peers who had little to no experience in dueling. 

The Young Lord was far too used to being thrown out of his depth, that he almost always managed to escape even the most horrific and disastrous looking situations with little more than a scratch or bruise to show for it. He loathed to admit it, but his yearly near-encounters with death helped him a lot in the long run. It allowed him to enter duels and just _know_ that he would come out alright because he had battled far more fearsome trials, and this in turn allowed him no room for hesitation. 

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for many of his peers, resulting in many lives lost. He felt his heart ache at the mere memory of his friends lying cold, with nothing but the stench of death surrounding their persons. And poor Teddy-

His sweet, little Godson was now orphaned just as he was. Even with the comfort of Andromeda, Harry knew that nothing could fill the void of losing your parents, whether you got to know them or not. He liked to tell his friends that no, he didn’t really care for his parents, and how could he ever miss something that he’s never had - but often found himself wondering during the darkest of nights, _what if?_

It was always a question of _what if_ , wasn’t it? There were so many different possibilities - different roads that his life could have taken, and it made him wonder if he would be the same person that he was today. He certainly hoped not. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone to become as jaded and bitter as he had become during the war. 

Sure, it helped a lot when he was actually _fighting_ in a war but when it came to softening up and just overall being cordial with a stranger, it was very difficult to lower his guard. He just couldn’t find it within to lower those mental and emotional barriers enough to let the real him shine through, and it had gotten to the point where he was even giving his two best friends the cold shoulder.

Harry began to feel the telltale signs of guilt swell up within him, letting out a tired sigh, his shoulders slumping every so slightly. He knew that he was being completely unreasonable but he couldn’t help it. It was as though every single fibre of his being repulsed and recoiled whenever anyone got too close to him, even if it was something a little as just a hand on the shoulder.

He had never reacted so strongly against physical contact since his 1st Year at Hogwarts, and quite frankly, he was disappointed that he was reduced to a shuddering mess whenever anyone went too close - like all those years of building up his confidence had been flushed right out of his system. It was humiliating that he, a former War General, would flinch at something so minor, so he would constantly flex his magic to ward anyone off, lest he accidently curse anyone out of reflex. 

_What was wrong with him_ ? This wasn’t normal, was it? The tip of his fingers twitched at his sides, as if they were itching to grasp the wands in his holsters - to feel the familiar sensation of scratched wood on his skin, like it gave him solace like no other. It made him feel _safe,_ he felt as though no one could harm him, nevermind the fact that he could perform wandless magic flawlessly. 

Taking in a deep breath, he quickly composed himself to get ready for the function, before he managed to persuade himself from showing up at all. It would be fine - _he_ would be _fine_. All he had to do was maintain a distance, smile for pictures and possibly give a speech to wrap the entire thing up. It was only mandatory for him to stick around for the first couple of hours, and then he was free to disappear off to wherever he wanted with the excuse that he was a busy man. And he was, for the most part.

Perhaps, once he got back from the party, he’d organise himself a small sabbatical to sort himself out before he was ready to officially integrate himself back into society. A society which practically kissed the floor he walked on, yet would be quick to turn their noses up at him should he find himself in a difficult situation. _‘Vultures,’_ Harry thought to himself sourly, as he selected his formal robes. _‘The whole lot of them.’_ He found himself subconsciously picking out a certain set of robes, feeling rather nostalgic though he had no clue why.

The fine fabric, dark green and gold accents resonated with something deep within him, and for a moment he was quite startled, but he was quick to dismiss it as deja vu. The robes were completely different to what he would usually wear, with the cut seemingly old fashioned, but he could see some remnants of modern wizarding fashion on the design. Either way, he had never seen anything quite like it, and while he was a little uneasy about garnering unwanted attention, he found himself quite excited to try the robes on, which was fairly out of character for himself but it was clear that he didn’t mind. 

This would be the start of a new chapter of his life, and what could be the harm in changing up his appearance a little bit to show that? There was none, none at all and if anyone tried to say anything bad about it, he’d be quick to shoot them down. Verbally, of course. After taking a quick shower, he had finally put on his robes and sat himself down at the vanity, curiously eyeing the different products that were lined up for him to use. They all had instructions on them, so that wasn’t what he was worried about - he was more confused about which ones to use. 

Harry noted that one of the products had ‘ _For Everyday Use_ ’ on the label, and after picking it up, he realised that it was eye make up- or rather paint. The application was simple, but he found it rather strange that for something that seems to be so high quality why was it that he had never seen anyone wear anything like it before. “Mipsy..?” He called out.

No later than a quick second, a familiar crack filled his room. “Yes, young Lord?” she asked, long ears fluttering slightly as she noted that he was actually dressing up. She and the other house elves were getting a bit worried with how reclusive Harry had been behaving, but finally, he was going to leave the manor and actually see his friends again. They had seen first hand how being alone for long periods of time could damage the mind, and it wasn’t anything pretty. 

“Do you know anyone who is of wizarding descent to ever wear this…?”Harry inquired, holding up the product up to her eye-level, carefully examining her expression. Seeing her blank look made her a little disappointed, “I don’t know- maybe one of the older elves knows…? Perhaps Kreacher?” To other wizards and witches, it might be a bit strange to own a house elf who speaks perfectly good English, but Harry expected no less of his personal house-elf, and so he requested the best of the best. 

With the mention of the old house-elf’s name, he popped into the room, as though he was expecting Harry to need him. “Yes..? Master Black?” His voice was bored, though other than that, there was little disrespect in his tone, not that Harry would have cared, anyway. “Who do you know wears this kind of paint?” 

The house elf looked over the tub, narrowing his eyes at the moving picture which showed how to apply it. “No wizards or witches wear this paint. The eldest wizards and witches used to- it’s a symbol- of belief.” 

“Of religion? Belief in a deity..?” He was quick to question, and smiled triumphantly when Kreacher had nodded in agreement. “Dismissed.” 

How was it that all these coincidences were lining up one after another in such a short span of time..? He would bet that this ‘deity’ that they worshiped was something to do with Death. They seemed to always have something to do with his life, and at this point, he wasn’t sure if he was all that grateful for it either. As he uncapped the little tub, he carefully dipped the tip of the brush into the paint, before carefully applying the single streak of dark green beneath his eyes, before sitting back and looking at his appearance with a gentle smile. He loved the way it contrasted to his lightly tanned skin, allowing for his vibrant green eyes to shine brighter. 

Harry then left his room for the main hall, finally ready to floo to the ministry as he was already about half an hour late. Knowing Hermione, she would have dragged Ron and the rest of the Weasley clan along with her right on the dot, but Harry prefered to be _fashionably_ late. He might get an earful later on, but he thought it was all worth it.

What he forgot to remind himself of was the fact that since he had arrived so late, most of the guests would have already started mingling - so when he stepped out of the floo from the other side, he noticed thousands of stares piercing him as he casually swept off any lingering soot from the floo. Harry was near unrecognisable, had it not been for the scar on his forehead, but even that was difficult to see from a distance. Even as the whispers grew, he continued walking towards a cluster of redheads that seemed to linger around the same area of the ballroom, and he noted that Hermione had done something to her hair to get it to lie flat. 

_“Is that Potter..?”_

_“It’s Harry! Look-”_

_“Wow, he looks so different!”_

“Harry!” A jubilant voice in front of him practically yelled, and the next thing he knew, he was being dragged into a bear hug- sandwiched in between Hermione and Ron. Hermione pulled away after a moment, gaze flickering over his face curiously before eventually smiling. Apparently his change in appearance wasn’t all that note-worthy, and that realisation warmed Harry to the core. “Finally decided to join the livin, eh? Harry?” Ron teased gently, now hooking his arm over Harry’s neck, he and Hermione both sporting bright and relieved smiles. 

When Harry had told them that he wanted a small break, just for himself, it was a little concerning since they thought it was a better idea to stick together and help each other heal from that mess of a war, but apparently all that worrying had been for naught, as Harry had never looked better. That small week off had done wonders for him- the dark circles under his eyes were now none-existent, and he had a healthy, almost joyful flush across his cheeks which meant that he had been taking care of himself.

It was a well known fact between the three of them that Harry was absolutely useless when left alone for too long - sometimes he’d even forget to eat just because he was so caught up with whatever was going on at the time.

It had gotten to the point that Hermione and Ron had an entire routine set out just for them to remind him to eat, but what was so brilliant was that they were very patient with him. They weren’t idiots. They knew what sort of hell Harry would be forced to go through every summer, but at the same time, they would never treat him like he was made out of glass. Even through all of the ups and downs in their lives, they had stuck through with each other right till the end, and for that, Harry would have no way of ever expressing how grateful he was for his friends.

He remembered how during the first year, it was Ron who had actually noticed his strange eating habits. How he’d usually be one of the last to start eating- usually what's left over, and the second he heard Harry say that he did that out of sheer habit was the exact moment he vowed to help take care of him. Hermione realised this problem straight after the Troll Incident, and was very firm when trying to coax him into a healthier routine, and for the most part it worked. 

And it wasn’t like it was only Harry who was gaining from the little trio, but he provided a sort of guide for the both of them - allowing for them to prosper in their own ways while still not getting too lost in their heads from their ambitions or worries. It worked all ways, and they found that it suited them perfectly. They weren’t called the Golden Trio for nothing, after all. 

They were practically inseparable, and should either of them get into arguments, the whole school would be quick to know because the second they see one of them away from the other two for too long, something was clearly amiss. But it was very rare that anyone out of the group would actually know what happened, and they were very private in that nature. Constantly getting up into all sorts of mischief during their school years made for a pretty solid group of friends, and also the bane of every professor’s existence. 

As much as Minerva loved the three of them, she knew that more often than not, the situations that they find themselves in would be fairly avoidable, but they seemed to attract all sorts of negative attention - whether that be because of Harry (who had a target on the back of his head since birth), Hermione (who was far too curious for her own good, and would do anything to get answers) or even Ron (who seemed to get a high off the adrenaline from extremely dangerous adventures). 

However, there was no denying that the three of them had some sort of magnetic pull that tended to call out to the rest of their peers. It was most evident during their 5th year, when Senior Undersecretary Madam Umbridge came to teach at Hogwarts. Had it been any other group of students to set up that little club of theirs, barely anyone would have attended. 

Contrary to popular belief, while Ron may sometimes seem like a two-faced git, he and Harry were as thick as thieves - and arguably the closest out of the three, with Hermione maintaining a more romantic relationship with Ron, and something purely platonic with Harry. It was really difficult to pinpoint when they had first started getting the recognition that they had back in school, but to them it was evident what event really did it for them. 

While it seemed quite insignificant to anyone else, it was such a pivotal moment of their life and what marked the beginning of a true, and strong friendship that could quite possibly last a life-time. And once again, it was the Troll Incident. After simultaneously putting each other in danger, and then somehow managing to save each other from a particularly brutal troll, it was safe to say that nothing could really get between them - not for long, anyway. 

The charisma that they seemed to exude just lured people in, and you would soon find that you either really liked them or you outright despised them - the later usually was just a result of jealousy, but it was clear that as a whole, they were celebrated. 

“So, how was that break of yours..?” Hermione gently asked, keeping her voice slightly hushed so that no one passing by could really overhear. They’d said to the press that they had no clue where Harry had gone to take his break, but the truth was that they knew exactly where he was the entire time and they just wanted to give him space to breath for a little while, away from all the expectations. 

The muggleborn witch knew that the second the public caught even the slightest hints towards his location, or whatever it is that he might have been doing during his break, they would continuously hound him which would just completely defeat the purpose of the break. Harry smiled at her gently, shoulders seeming to ease up from their once tense stand, which was a good sign for them as it showed that he was slowly getting a little more comfortable. 

After the war, Harry wouldn’t even sit down for a moment without thoroughly layering on several wards just to be sure, so it was nice for them to see him have _some_ faith in the Ministry’s competence. Again, it wasn’t very substantial, but it was something and that was all they could really ask of him, especially considering all the times the Ministry had failed _him_. Now, Harry was definitely not one to hold grudges very easily, it was only something that the most despicable of human beings earned after doing him wrong far too many times, so it was probably safe to assume that he would get over any sort of animosity he had for the authorities. 

“The break was a really good idea, actually- some weird things have been happening lately so I spent a lot of my time just trying to make sense of it all. I was actually thinking about traveling for a day or two out of the country, but I’ll be back really soon. I’d uh-” He furrowed his brows, pausing for a moment as he looked around to see if anyone was listening in. “I want to talk to you both about what’s been going on these past few days, but only after I come back. I’ll send you owls on my trip and keep you up to date so if anything happens, you’ll be the first two to know-” Harry hurried to soothe their worries, recognising the familiar panic rising up in their eyes the second he mentioned the trip he was planning to go on. 

“But Harry, mate- It’s dangerous! The war’s still recent, who knows what kind of people are out there!” Ron’s blue eyes were filled with anxiousness as his gaze nervously flickered to the people around them. As much as he wanted Harry to spend more time outside of his home, and meet new people, going on some brand new adventure without any protection whatsoever was definitely not the way to go about it.

Maybe it was him just being a bit too protective of Harry, because he certainly didn’t need any help dueling any dark wizards, but you just never know what kind of things might happen, especially in such a new territory. The three of them knew Britain like the back of their hand, and even if they were Confunded, they’d still be able to navigate themselves around most areas, but out of the country, they were completely out of their depth. Harry shot the taller wizard a mildly annoyed look, not really being impressed by the over-the-top response.

“I’ve escaped Gringotts with nothing more than a dragon, and somehow managed to slay a basilisk. It doesn’t get any more difficult than that, let me tell you.” He playfully rolled his eyes, gently bumping his shoulder with Ron’s as if to lighten up the atmosphere a tad. “Hermione, tell him that I’ll be fine-” He quickly added on, seeing that Ron wasn’t having any of it, but Hermione was just as concerned. 

“Why can’t we come with you?” She asked, though it appeared that she was going to let it go sooner than ron. He then eyed her curiously, pondering for a moment if he should actually tell her where he was planning to go, but then decided against it. “For one, both of you are needed here. You have an entire family to help out during the morning period, and secondly, I just feel as though I should take this trip on my own for once. Some ‘self-discovery’, if you will.” Now that got a little laugh out of the both of them, and he found that Ron’s arm which had been around his shoulder this entire time had relaxed, and so he allowed himself to lightly lean against his tall frame - as a little show of comfort.

He wasn’t going anyway for too long, and it wasn’t as if they hadn’t ever gone without him for more than a few days before, so in the end, he knew that they’d be perfectly alright. 

“Mr.Potter! There you are!” Amelia Bones had been selected as the Minister straight after the war, as Harry really refused to follow a Ministry with any corrupt leaders. He had been living under the control of far too many terrible leaders in the past, and this new era that had begun the second Voldemort’s cold body hit the floor deserved to start with someone who he knew would actually remain unwavering and wouldn’t be tempted by either glory or money. 

“After that little disappearing act you did a week ago, I was really wondering if you were ever going to attend-” She nodded her head towards both Ron and Hermione, being one of the few people to actually notice that they stood beside the Boy-Who-Lived. It was quite refreshing to see his friends get the recognition he knew they deserved, and he found his lips slowly tugging into a gentle smile with her actions. “Well, I was actually deciding against ever turning up, but I figured I’d ought to bless the populace with my gorgeous face once more-” 

He could practically _feel_ his best friends rolling their eyes behind him, though that only encouraged his smile to grow brighter at their subtle exasperation. Amelia glanced over his face, taking note of the paint under his eyes, “This new style, Mr.Potter- It suits you very well-” she looked him over thoughtfully, wondering how the specific style wasn’t already popular to the masses. “Well, since you’ve been cooped up in God knows where, and Miss Granger and Mr Weasley haven’t been out in the public all that much either, I thought you probably haven’t heard of all this yet, but.”

“But..?” Ron encouraged, now much more curious of where the conversation might lead. “But-” The new Minster repeated, sharply looking at Ron to remind him that they were still in a formal setting, and shouldn’t forget his manners. His cheeks flushed a tad from the subtle reprimand, but he was still quite eager to hear what she had to say. 

“They’ve made a Chocolate Frog card for you, labelled the Golden Trio- and they’ve updated your lone card, Mr. Potter. As it stands now, they’re the two most rarest cards of the deck. We’ve considered producing a lot of them so that the newer generations would know exactly who the three of you are, but we decided it was better not to since you deserve the rarity that comes along with it, yes? Besides, it wouldn’t be like you needed those cards anyway; nearly every wizard and witch in our society has heard your names at least once, so-” Harry raised his hand slightly, trying to be as polite as possible as he cut in. “I’m sorry- you lost me at Chocolate Frog cards.”

“Blimey-” Ron breathed out, completely stupefied. While those cards were more something for little kids to have something to do in their spare time, they were honestly so iconic. Everyone knew that only the most powerful witches and wizards got their own cars, and the more difficult it was to find one, the more important they’d be. “Really, Harry..?” Hermione asked, a little unimpressed as he interrupted for something so small. “It honestly doesn’t change anything. It would only make you even more famous-” She looked at him meaningfully, and suddenly Harry wasn’t so happy with the Chocolate Frog cards as well. 

“ _Blimey!_ ” He repeated himself, a goofy smile spreading across his face. It was a well known fact that he was an avid card collector himself, and the two could just tell that he’d stop at nothing to get those cards. He remembered having to throw away a bunch of _Harry Potter_ cards simply because they had produced so many, but even the one he currently had was useless if they had updated the card and made it one of the rarest in the desk. Harry shifted a little uncomfortably as the hungry look Ron was giving him, and sort of shifted himself behind Hermione, who was, unfortunate, a handful of inches taller than him. 

Harry, the poor young man, was the shortest of the three, with Ron being the tallest. Of course, the last person to mention his height in the slightest was hexed to oblivion. An overreaction, you may say? Perfectly deserved, in Harry’s opinion. Hermione smiled almost apologetically, “Well, if that’s all Minister..?” Amelia noticed immediately that she had interrupted something, so she returned the slight smile before dismissing herself from their small little group. 

The new few hours were a blur, in the manner that they were so agonisingly dull, Harry had felt like he had spent a 5 hour history lesson. Needless to say, he was very quick to leave the party, just wanting to unwind for a little bit before having to go pack for his journey. With a few muttered ‘bye’s, Harry soon found himself back at home, and suddenly, all the tension that had built up in his body during the last couple of hours he swept out of his body all in one smooth go.

His knees buckled underneath him, and he just face planted directly onto the sofa before him. His toned arms wrapped around one of the cushions in front of him, a soft sigh slipping past his lips. Harry could have just lied right there for the rest of his life, and oddly enough he found himself content with that thought, but even while everyone was celebrating the Defeat 2.0 of The Dark Lord, he still had a lot of work to do. Initially, he planned on just roaming around a country of his choice - maybe go sight-seeing, but something within him told him that it was probably a better idea to actually map his route out, to avoid any later problems of course.

With a much more heavy sigh, he lifted himself off the sofa and began walking back to his room to get dressed into something much more movement-friendly, and something much less formal. When in his changing rooms, he swapped his expensive robes for an every-day work robe- the material soft and the colour an icy blue - and underneath, some tailored black trousers and a white button up shirt. Apparently the only jeans and t-shirt that he had owned had been burnt by the house-elves he had.

Something about nothing so muggle should ever be within his presence. Once he had finally changed into something a little more breathable, he began making his way back to his study. He knew that he had grabbed a map of some sort and placed it somewhere on his pile. There were some routes mapped out that, according to the books, had something to do with his ancestors, and while it was very unlikely, he still found himself intrigued. Even if Harry didn’t find anything, he would still enjoy his trip, wouldn’t he? 

He didn’t really see how this could go wrong, other than maybe bumping into a few unfriendly XXXXX creatures or hostile wizards and witches, but he was fairly confident that he’d be able to avoid such altercations altogether. Besides, it wasn’t as though he would be actively searching for any trouble - was it really his fault that Fate seemed to really hate him so? Perhaps he had angered her in another life and this life was his retribution - whatever it may be, he seemed to have just enough luck to come out on top every time. 

The theory that his parents had bottle-fed him Felix Felicis since his very birth was sounding more and more appealing as each year passed - each seeming to have a much bigger event occurring right at the end. 

But now that the war was over, he didn’t have to worry about people plotting to kill him as much. He knew that it was only a matter of time before he bumped into someone a little too Avada happy, but this was as good as it was going to get, and since nothing was ever normal in his life, he was going to take and enjoy every period of calm he could get. His composure brightened up slightly as he noticed a book right on top of the pile - it was the book with all of the maps, and it looked like he was planning to read it next. 

Harry quickly swiped the book off the pile and marched right out of his study to the lounging rooms, where he knew there would be much more comfortable seats for him to read in. He kicked off his shoes and sat down on one of the sofas with a near happy hum, mind already whizzing with the different possible routes he could choose from. It didn’t seem to cross his mind that the pile of 6 books had somehow turned to 7 books during the time he was at the Ministry.

Because there were so many different maps to select from, he decided it was best to just randomly pick one and hope for the best. He would then start packing his things as soon as possible. Harry moved to lift the book from his lap, but his fingers seemed to miscalculate for a moment, and the thick tome was sent tumbling down right onto the floor, earning a small wince. Old books were generally very fragile, and this one looked to be one of the oldest of the lot. He peered over the edge of the sofa, brows knitting together at once singular peculiarity. 

There was a small, worn piece of parchment that peaked out of the book. He caught himself glancing at the portraits a bit apprehensively, though the few that were watching him seemed equally curious to see what it was. He decided there and then that wherever this parchment would lead, he would follow the path because did he not say that he would select the route randomly? And this was as random as it got, wasn’t it? 

He reached over his hand and delicately picked it up from the floor, opening up the book the page where the sheet was sticking out, and gently removed it from the book. Now placing the book to the side, he unfolded the parchment and smoothed it out on his lap, humming ever so slightly. 

Looks like he was going to Egypt. His gaze focused on a certain name, just 25km North of Cairo. What a coincidence - the Potter side of the family had strong Egyptian roots. He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, but again, shrugged it off. Even if it did seem a little suspicious, he had already decided that he was going to go through with it. 

Harry was nothing, if not a man of his word - so he picked his things up and began to pack.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So um.. I procrastinated. Oopsie-   
> Again, no beta- but enjoy it if you can :')

The very first thing that he had registered was the smouldering heat that seemed to encompass the city, and although he wasn’t used to such a drastic change in temperature, he found that he didn’t mind it all. Barely anyone gave him more than one curious glance before carrying on with their day, and if that didn’t fill him with such joy, then what could? He had arrived via international portkey a little over 15 minutes ago, and so far he was searching for an inn to have a place to return to after he was out exploring using the map. The route itself was a little strange, and it seemed to ignore any normal paths that had been built, instead spiraling into a completely different direction before meeting at the same point the paths did. 

It was a little confusing to follow at first but he found that the longer he examined the route, the less he was confused. The small landmarks that had been noted on the map were surprisingly still standing, granted there being a large number of tourists gathering at them with a constant flow of excited chatter. He would have been annoyed had this been any other situation, but he conceded that it was much better to have people fawning loudly over mere statues than kissing his own arse in order to gain favour or some form of political clout- not that it ever worked, mind you. 

Harry also had a small contraption that floated just above his shoulder, thankful that it was only visible to magicals otherwise he would’ve had a difficult time trying to explain what sort of technology it was. The ‘little thing’ was charmed to translate whatever language it was set - a handy little charm that Harry quite prided himself on. 

Magicals would have been difficult to spot as they were well hidden, but Harry was very quick to understand just how they were hidden. Every couple of streets that he would pass, there would be alleyways completely covered in anti-muggle charms and notice-me-nots, so he found himself wandering in what could very possibly be Egypt’s version of Diagon Alley. One thing to note was the fact that it was clear that there were no magical divisions between the people - as he had seen both heavily light magic and dark magic be performed right before his very eyes, and no one seemed to think it was out of the norm. 

Most would assume that he was completely against dark magic, but that was not true in the least bit. He knew that trying to discriminate a third of magic was completely ridiculous, but he also understood that certain spells - in both light and dark magic - were made to kill or harm, and  _ that  _ was something he didn’t really approve of. The sheer concept of good and evil was so broad that he didn’t really care who he was cutting down during the war. 

He was not fighting for the light side, just as he wasn’t fighting for the dark side - but he was just trying to ensure that he lived another day, and if that meant sending a cutting hex straight to a wizard’s jugular, then so be it. Harry found himself wincing ever so slightly at his trail of thought, but if he was being honest? He would much rather it be them than him, as he was only just a teenager who was dragged into a war that he never wanted to be a part of. 

It was about time that he could just walk around without people screaming just to get a picture of him. Harry might just learn Arabic so that he could live in Egypt for the rest of his days. He found the thought so appealing that he was actually seriously considering it. Even if this map led him to nowhere, he could always just build an entire mansion for his future kids and whatnot. 

It would be so heavily guarded and protected that Black Manor would practically tremble in shame - he’d also have each hallway covered with portraits from Potter Manor and even some from the Blacks. But he could worry about all of that at a later date - for now, he just wanted to enjoy the sun and possibly grab something to eat. Such vibrant colours filled his vision- along with the lovely scent of fresh food coming from the smaller restaurants around him. 

“ _ Mr! Over here-! _ ” A bright voice chimed in his direction, so he turned around to see who was calling him, feeling a tinge of annoyance as he wasn’t really planning on talking to her anyway unless absolutely necessary. “Yes?” He questioned, having the little contraption of his, conveying his words. The man at the stall paused in confusion, tilting his head at the small creation that floated just above his shoulder. “ _ I have these beads that would absolutely look wonderful on you! Many of us magical folk tend to wear these, so it’ll help you blend in a lot more easily. _ ” 

To say that Harry was surprised by the stranger’s thoughtfulness was an understatement, and needless to say, he felt oddly touched and that tinge of annoyance had long faded away. He flashed him a bright, friendly smile as he approached the stall. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know how to put these in. But I’m very thankful for your kindness, sir-” The merchant tutted playfully, waving his hand airily before plucking out a handful of little beads that looked quite intricate and expensive, and poured them into a little silk pouch. 

“ _ Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll teach you how to put them on, alright? You’ll get these half-priced too, since I just know that they’d look so lovely on you! _ ” With that Harry leaned his face closer so that the man could thread the beads into his hair, only slightly hesitant. The man radiated such warmth and joy, like many of the other people that he had just walked by, so he didn’t feel all that worried. The possibility of the merchant trying to attack him was really low, but there was still a small chance and he wasn’t willing to risk it.

After a few more minutes, the man had pulled away and picked up a mirror for Harry to see his new appearance. He stood back a little and blinked rapidly at his reflection. God, he couldn’t even tell if he was looking at himself anymore. He looked like one of the Lords or Ladies in the portraits he had seen every day for the past week, and he couldn’t find it within himself to dislike his new appearance. 

“Wow! These really do look amazing on me- thank you!” He rummaged through his pouch of money and placed the exact price of the beads on the desk, despite the fact that the man had said it was half-priced. He obviously tried to refuse the money, but Harry wouldn’t have any of it. “These beads look incredibly expensive, and I have more than enough money so I won’t be hindering your sales, alright? But I do wonder the origins of these beads - do you know? Why do the locals wear these?” He asked politely, standing to the side as he noticed that a few people were waiting to purchase their own beads. 

Was it a sign of status or was it just something cultural? Harry watched as the man tended to his other customers, noting that they all tended to only pick a certain type of bead rather than having a collection of different ones. Harry himself had some black beads with gold accents, but it appeared that everyone else tended to just wear one solid colour. He puffed his cheeks out involuntarily, huffing slightly as his lack of knowledge regarding other cultures.

It was a shame, really. He had no one to blame but himself for his ignorance, as he had known since 3rd year of his ethnicity, but since he had never imagined himself really moving out of England or anything remotely like that, he didn’t deem the idea of studying other cultures as important. “ _ Ease up, young man- _ ” The familiar voice of the man brought him out of his brief mental debate. From listening in on the conversations, Harry had picked up that the man’s name was Dejmar. It was a very unique name, but he wasn’t all that surprised since he was in a completely different country. 

The breathy way in which everyone seemed to pronounce the first syllable of the name made him all the more eager to immerse himself in the culture and language he should have been immersed in since birth. “ _ From how hard your mind seems to be thinking, the story behind these beads is not all that interesting. But I shall tell you anyways so you don’t accidentally make a fool of yourself- _ ” That was a playful barb, and instead of feeling annoyed like he usually would, he found himself laughing lightly in response. 

They were alone again, and so Harry allowed himself to lean slightly against the sturdy structure of the booth, curiosity evident in his expression - to which the other, older man delighted in. “ _ Back in the day, when we used to have a monarch- Everyone used to shave their heads in order to protect themselves from the heat. We’d wear wigs that were decorated with certain beads. You could tell if someone came from a lot of money if they have expensive beads in their wig, like how you have those beads threaded in your hair. _ ” He pointed at the decorations which littered Harry’s messy mop of hair. 

“ _ Of course, this was far before cooling charms and the like were created, so now we don’t have to shave our heads or anything. We still wear the beads since it’s still such a big part of our culture. _ ” The young wizard found himself a little disappointed by the little tale, but at the same time he didn’t really know what to expect. It was as though he had been introduced into Wizarding society all over again, and he expected that even the smallest of things would hold some sort of significance. 

“ _ I see that you wear paint underneath your eye. It’s very rare to see people with that, but not unheard of. Which deity do you follow, if I’m not being too forward…? _ ” Dejmar asked him, voice a little hesitant since it  _ was  _ a very personal question to ask, but considering the fact that Harry was used to random people impeding on his personal life, he wasn’t all that disgruntled by the question. But at the same time, the question in and of itself was quite a bizarre thing to ask. 

In fact, he didn’t even know he worshiped a Deity - he almost felt some sort of compulsion come over him when he decided to wear the paint. Though the answer slipped past his lips with little to no resistance. “Them-” He smiled mysteriously, bright green eyes hinting at a little mischief at the older wizard’s befuddlement. It was at that very moment that he had realised that, without even noticing, he had slowly begun to believe that there was an entity out there who symbolised Death. A sudden warmth filled his very core at the realisation, something akin to elation though he had no clue why. It was as though he was meant to come to the specific spot in Egypt, talk to this very same man about the exact same topic in order for him to understand a part of himself that he didn’t even know existed. 

The confusion in his eyes must have shown, as the merchant leaned back just a tad, chuckling almost fondly at his far away, lost expression. “ _ I don’t know which Deity you speak about, but you’re definitely new. And that’s okay- take your time with learning. There is no rush for the favoured. _ ” 

There it was again. That exact phrase which sent shivers down his spine every time he came across it. “‘the favoured’?” He repeated, suddenly becoming a little more colder towards the man. “What is that supposed to mean?” At this, Dejmar seemed to get a little startled with his own choice of words, and now was looking just as confused as Harry did little more than a minute ago. He bit his lip, brows furrowing together as his thumb lightly traces the fine grains within the wooden panel beside him. “ _ I have no idea. It just seemed natural to say. _ ” After that he seemed to snap out of whatever daze he was in, flashing the young Saviour another megawatt smile, which immediately reassured Harry that there was no foul play to worry himself over. 

“I have to apologise. I’m a little on edge- it’s the first time i’ve really been out to another country, and I suppose everything seemed to be far too good to be true that I’ve been expecting something to go downhill since the very beginning-” Harry felt worry creep up in his consciousness, followed by a little guilt. He really didn’t want to upset anybody, especially anywho who had been nothing but polite to him since they started talking. It was incredibly rude of him to snap at Dejmar like that. Fortunately, the older man didn’t seem all that offended, and dismissed his worries with a casual wave of his hand, and Harry was at ease once more. 

A few minutes later, he continued to wander down the different paths in search of an inn to book a place in. It wasn’t that they were difficult to find, but more the fact that they were far too crowded for him to get any semblance of peace. Of course it was nearly as bad as it was back in England, but he’d still be able to settle down in a relatively quiet place, so he was searching for a small hotel that the locals had mentioned was right on the edge of town. The placement worked very well for him, as he could immediately set out forwards since the building was up north, meaning that he’d be able to directly find his way to the way the map led. 

It had been quite a while before Harry had even seen the hotel from afar, noting with a pleased look on his face when he saw that there were very few people in the area. The hotel itself seemed to be on the much more cleaner side, and it seemed quite pricey compared to the ones he had seen in passing, but again, money was never really going to be an issue for him anymore, and so he didn’t really see any harm in splurging every once in a while. There were multiple shallow flower beds around the building, some even containing flowers that he had never seen before, and some that he had recognised as normal, non-magical plants that he’d often see in the Dursleys’ garden. 

While he was forced to tend to the garden like a lowly slave, he actually quite enjoyed sitting out in the sun and just taking care of the smaller life forms. Once again, this was the only moment he was given to really prosper in something without being scorned or called freakish. He supposed both Petunia and Vernon were both hypocrites in those cases, where they looked the other if his magic acted up to suit them. Bitter resentment clogged up his throat for a moment, a flush of anger rising to his cheeks along with a prickling sensation in his eyes.

But he would not cry. The Dursleys were the type of people to kick people even when they were down, as if to ensure that they’d never get back up again, and so Harry had learned at a very young age, that showing tears or any sign of emotion would only spur them on. Before Hogwarts, he had thought that this treatment was normal for all orphaned children. As though he deserved to be treated like a complete waste of space simply for the fact that he had no parents to reply on. It was only after seeing other orphaned children seemed to lead happier lives than him that he began to notice that something wasn’t quite right.

If only he had paid more attention during those short C&V lessons during muggle school. He would have understood that what was being done to him was nothing short of abuse, and he would’ve done something to bring his teachers’ attention to his poor situation. Had he told them of what was going on before they started spreading rumours of his  _ disobedience  _ and  _ general disregard of the rules,  _ then maybe they would have taken him seriously, instead of thinking that all those mysterious bruises and broken bones were earned from picking fights in the streets. 

He shook his head, gaze hardening ever so slightly. No. What he was  _ not  _ going to do was start blaming himself for something that was clearly not his fault. He wasn’t going to let himself spiral down into a rabbit hole of ‘I should’ve done this’ or ‘What if I had done that?’ again. He had left that behind him back in his first year, after his encounter with Quirrel and Voldemort. After that life-threatening situation, he deemed that life was far too short for him to spend time dwelling on possibilities, and that it was better for him to look on the brighter side of things, lest he begin to lose himself with such dark thoughts. 

In the case of his custody being with the Dursleys, you could have pointed fingers at anyone but there was no use trying to find who’s fault it really was when all it would do would force them to walk in circles and run their heads into tisy. 

The door slid open, the bell jingling soon after as he stepped through the doorway. Thankfully, there was someone already at the front so he wouldn’t have to wait around for too long trying to nab a room. The sooner he booked himself a place, and unpacked his things, the sooner he’d be able to set out and finally see where the map would lead him. Harry would be lying if he said that he wasn’t the slightest bit excited, and his eagerness would show with the way his eyes brightened up, and purposeful stride towards the counter. 

“Sorry to interrupt you, but are there any free rooms for the next three nights?” he asked the women politely, ignoring the translation that followed in time with his voice. Like Dajmar, the woman seemed a little confused by the charm work, but was quick to adapt and school her expression, a cool, yet polite smile slipping onto her face. Like many of the locals, she too had beads threaded through her hair, but her appearance was decidedly much more formal, which made sense as she  _ was  _ working in a hotel. 

Harry patiently waited once more (he found himself doing that a lot) and looked at the decor as she flipped through what rather large book, which was most likely where all the book-ins were logged. “ _ You are just in luck. We have an empty which has one of the best views- master sized. Breakfast, lunch, dinner and supper also comes along with the full price, if you’re willing to pay 25 galleons per night..? _ ” Her words tilted off slightly as she looked at him questioningly. 

While his robes and beads definitely looked quite expensive, it wouldn’t be right to assume so she didn’t want to immediately book him for a place he wouldn’t be able to pay. At this, Harry didn’t know whether to feel thankful or insulted, but he settled with a reassuring smile. “I was expecting something pricier considering the decorations and how quiet it seems to be around here, so I’ll definitely take it. I’ll pay on my last day, if that is alright?”

“ _ That would be perfect! _ ” She chirped, sliding a pass over to him along with a slim key-card. “ _ Just your signature is needed, and you can head up and pack. _ ” Harry hurriedly scrawled his signature onto the piece of paper after checking it for any signs of tampering, before he nodded his head at her and began making his way around the counter. He was placed on one of the higher floors, not too high up that he’d be too exhausted after climbing up a few flights of stairs. 

Even as his robes gently brushed against the walls with every single step he took, he could feel the magic in the wards thrumming through the air which almost reminded him of home.  _ Home, _ he repeated to himself a little dazed. What exactly was his ‘home’? Grimmauld Place was nothing more than a house for him to stay, and Privet Drive would never be his home. Hogwarts was really the only place he could remotely call home, but even then, he seemed to constantly be in danger despite the fact that it was supposedly the safest place in all of Britain. 

He may have once been able to call the castle his home, but for now, Harry didn’t think he’d ever view it as home ever again - or at least, not anytime soon, if that. Swiping his card at the front door, he gently turned the knob before pushing it open. The windows were slightly ajar, allowing the fresh air to fill the room with the slightest hints of fresh food wafting in all the way from the main streets. 

The curtains were thin, and so fluttered gently with the odd breeze or two, the slight rustling fading into the background noise of chatter- not that there was much to begin with. It was already pretty late, so Harry had begun to unpack his things - like a few changes of clothes before finally allowed himself to relax some. It was probably a good idea to set out early in the morning, rather than at night, so he decided that he’d spend the first night here at the hotel and just enjoy one more night of comfort before he set out on what could very possibly be a complete waste of his time. 

Flicking out his wand, Harry began to weave a few wards in quick succession, making sure to layer his belongings and every possible exit as thoroughly as he could, and until he finished, he would allow himself to fall asleep - no matter how much his body and mind mourned for it. Sleep deprivation was nothing new to him, but these past few days he had gotten much better so he was a little disappointed in himself for feeling the need to overprotect himself with thick wards when the ones placed around the entire premises were adequate enough. 

It was like a night light, he’d later shamefully admit - could never fall asleep without making sure he had protected himself as much as he ever could.

“Mister Evans..?” It was damned good that he heard the crack of apparition, or the poor elf’s head would have been rolling on the ground by now. And yes, he did jot his name down as Evans - sue him. Nothing good ever came out of using his actual names, and while the locals had been nothing but sweet and minding their own business, Harry just wasn’t ready to risk it. “Your food.” The plates were carefully floated to the mini dinning table that was placed in the adjacent room, but he only let go of his breath after he had made sure that the house elf had left. 

It wasn’t that he wasn’t a fan of them, but the young Lord wasn’t all that trusting of house elves that weren’t tied to him. While it was true that he adored Dobby, and everything he had done to protect him in the end, he was actually the main reason behind why he was so uneasy with any other house elves. It wasn’t that he though they were inherently untrustworthy, but more the slightest chance that any house-elves could even commit murder should their owner give themenough incentive. 

To other wizards and witches, it may have been ludicrous to think that such (usually) harmless creatures were capable of something as brutal as murdering another magical. He would have actually agreed with them too, if he had not seen it first hand. Sure, Dobby had never actually killed anyway- but some of the things he did very well could have. 

Harry cautiously approached the table, eyes narrowing at the platters of food with suspicion lingering strongly in his eyes. He slowly cast a revealing charm onto the different plates, shoulders stiffening up as he waited for the results. What had been returned was a simple ‘ _ Inconclusive _ ’, and so he tried a few more charms before eventually sitting himself down at the table after he got the same results. 

Slowly picking up his cutlery, he finally began to eat his meal, the brewing hunger in his stomach slowly ebbing away with each bite that he took. There were several dishes set out in front of him, and for the first time, he felt as though he’d be able to actually finish everything that was cooked for him. Harry knew instantly that this would come to be his favourite meal, and just knew that he’d have to return some time later in order to try the food again, maybe even explore different restaurants too. 

The flavours that spread across his tongue with gusto put anything he’d ever had back in Britain to shame - even Molly Weasley’s cooking paled in comparison! He would just have to find the recipe for him to cook for himself, if he couldn’t ever find such food back in England. It was no wonder everyone seemed so happy and nice if they were eating such delicious foods every single day! Before he even knew it, the food was gone and there was not the slightest discomfort in his stomach from eating so much food in one go.

In the midst of him just revelling in satisfaction from the meal, he allowed himself to lean back in his chair, eyes flickering closed for just a moment as he felt the soothing cold winds breeze through the windows. It was a stark difference from the heated temperatures that he had felt earlier, but it was a welcomed change nonetheless. It oddly reminded him of England, only it was constant low temperature, with the odd days being, if they were lucky, slightly above chilly. 

The sand and deserts that surrounded this town were vast, and so he could still see the slight grains of sand filter past in the direction of the wind. For a second, he considered stepping out onto the balcony, just to enjoy the now darkening skies, but even he knew better than to tempt fate by sticking his recognisable face out in the middle of the night. Things had been going awfully nicely, and he didn’t want to do anything that would ever jeaopordise that, regardless of the numerous occasions he found himself heading head first into battle. Harry liked to think that the past few years, despite the repeating tragedies that he had faced, had done him very well in terms of his maturity level and ability to think well without his hot emotions blurring any logic. 

It was a mighty improvement since 5th year, when he snuck into the DoM in search of his dear Godfather - even though he had the slight niggling in the back of his head telling him that it was all a ruse. A set up to lure him into the hands of those who wished him harm. And yet, for the slightest possibility, he found himself tossing away his life with abandon for the sake of saving someone dear to him. His smile was bitter as he recalled every situation in which he had been sorely tempted to sacrifice his life for people that he barely knew. 

Of course, the only time in which he had really come to regret his tendencies was with Sirius. That was the fault of no one, but himself - and nothing anyone told him would convince him otherwise. How could the thought of Voldemort not evening noticing the connection be plausible for even a second? As distorted and contorted his face was, it was a well known fact that he was heads and shoulders above the rest of his peers when it came to intelligence and magical prowess. 

Just what were they thinking, underestimating the man that had, arguable, caused the most damage Britain had seen in centuries? The utter hilarity of the situation would have him laugh for decades to come, but more out of self-pity than humour. The smile on his face had formed into a set grimace, a crease between his brows conveying the weight of his thoughts. Was he not such a gracious Saviour, protecting ‘his’ people from ever having to go through struggles such as the ones he was subjected to? He would think this to himself with a self-deprecating laugh; even the mention of his so-called title sent shivers raking his already fragile form. 

A tendril of magic gently felt for the shell of his ear, and without even realising it to himself, he had turned slightly to accommodate the sensation, allowing for it to continue caressing his skin. It was comforting, of course, but the question remained on where exactly this stray, sentient string of magic had come from? It was no normal magical, that was for sure. Harry prided himself on being not arrogant, but confident in his own skills, and so he was near positive that no wizard or witch, nor any magical creature that he had ever learnt of would have the capacity to bypass wards that had centuries of development behind them. 

So was it a question of  _ whom  _ this magic belonged to, or  _ what  _ it belonged to -  _ where  _ it belonged to? And  _ ah, _ there he went off again. His inner dialogue was frighteningly reminiscent of that of a philosopher, and a philosopher he was not, if his lack of conscious decisions in the past had not proved that already. As the magic apparently had no malicious intentions, Harry decided to let it be, allowing the trail to flow and caress his clothes or skin as much as it wanted to, so long as it didn’t leave an imprint. 

Soon, the empty plates from earlier had been vanished, and Harry guiltily admitted to himself that he was glad, not wanting to have taken his plates down himself. Perhaps he was slowly becoming pampered, what with the way his own house-elves seemed to coddle him , but as long as it didn’t hurt anyone, was it really so bad that he was settling into his own station? 

The very station that had been denied from him since the beginning? Was that such a terrible thing for him? The former Golden Boy of Hogwarts began to feel self-righteous indignation stir up within him once again, but had to calm himself down after coming to the realisation that he was only getting annoyed by the voice in his head, going off on a tangent as per usual. 

Was he actually off his rocker? He supposed that it wouldn't be too far fetched, he  _ did  _ survive two killing curses, after all. An AK to the head, and then one to the heart - Merlin, he either had the worst fortune in history, or he had an obscene amount of luck on his hands.

He was assuming it was the former, because more often than not, he would think to himself that perhaps it would have been better for him to not have survived. Sure, maybe the muggleborns might have had a tough time after Voldemort took over, but in the case of ‘me and mine’? Harry cared not for a single member of the public out of his own circle. 

The soothing caress of the magic had slowed down to a halt, and he felt reluctantly disappointed as it was rare for him to ever come across something magical that didn’t mean him harm. Especially when the source was anonymous. The young Peverell descendant eventually tore himself away from the balcony, not really bothering to shut the windows as he was sure that his wards would hold at least until morning. 

With the wave of his hand, magic surrounded him and magicked his travelling attire off and replaced them with a much more suitable attire. Just a baggy t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants was all that he needed, and he wouldn’t dare to wear anything heavier in case the temperature rose as he slept. After quickly washing himself up and performing his nightly routine, he soon crawled into the comfortable embrace of the bed. He exhaled lightly through his nose, eyes fluttering shut as he sank further into the small cocoon he had formed out of the light duvet. 

Subtle scents of herbs and freshener had filled his senses, but he found it more soothing than an annoyance - somewhat like incense, actually. He wished, and wished that sleep would come to claim him soon, hoping that he’d once again dream of bright red hair, warm brown eyes - maybe a flying motorcycle followed by a bark of laughter-...

His body relaxed as his consciousness slowly ebbed away into the land of dreams, and although he was no longer away to supply the wards with magic, they remained firm and stood straight as though they were being supplied and constant flow of magic. A handy little trick that he had come up with during his 6th year, before the whole horcrux hunting nightmare. Most of the time, when it comes to runs and ward-weaving, you’d need a tether to ground the wards, usually something inconspicuous like a pebble. 

After studying the blood wards that had been placed around his house, he realised a little too late that the blood wards were  _ not  _ erected around the Dursleys’ house, but tethered to him specifically. Now looking back on it, it did make sense considering the fact that his mother sacrificed herself to protect him and not the rest of her family. In other words, had Harry even stayed with the Weasley’s for a bit longer, the blood wards would have moved there instead. It filled him with such anger when he had first discovered this, but he knew that Dumbledor was an old man, and thus, more prone to making mistakes. 

Even if that hadn’t been the case, Harry felt as though he wouldn’t really be able to hate the former headmaster as much as he wished he could. He was far too forgiving in nature to ever really hold a permanent grudge, and that was him speaking not proud of himself, but out of annoyance due to his tendencies. But at the same time, he could begrudgingly admit that it was a good feature to have so he couldn’t really admonish himself for it. He was sure that his parents had been rather forgiving in nature too, even if they had a few rough patches in their lives. 

That was what he loved to think of course, but then again, he didn’t really know much about his parents to begin with. Most of the things he had heard were from Snape, and everyone knew that he was a biased git, but he couldn’t really be blamed for it either. It was never going to be a pleasant thing to tell an orphan that one of his or her parents used to bully other children, especially if said orphan had to go through such treatment when they were younger. So no, Harry was most definitely blind to his fathers’ faults, but he still loved and adored him all the same. 

And his  _ mother _ . No one ever told him about his mother- only the fact that he had his mother’s eyes. He knew that she used to be bestfriends with Severus, and that she had red hair and bright green eyes - just like him. But what else? What sort of hobbies did she have? Were there any extra-curricular activities that she participated in while she was at school? Why was it that barely anyone knew anything about her. His mother, the true light of his life. The person to give him life by bringing him into the world, and then giving him life once more by sacrificing her own as though it were a little price for her precious baby boy; as though it were a little price to pay in order to make sure that  _ he  _ lived. And he’d be damned if he’d ever put that sacrifice to waste. 

Perhaps he had already done that by accidentally finding him in situations that would make any parent pale or faint, but it wasn’t his fault that Fate seemed to hate him so.

“ _ Childe~” _

The voice had been so breathy, and soft that Harry had completely ignored it, only listening in to the faint humming of his wards. It was a small blunder that he’d curse himself for later on, but for now, he was attempting to enjoy a nice night-long rest as he hadn’t really gotten any sleep the days before. It was a trying time for him, the first couple of days back. Sometimes it would get so bad that he’d barely be able to shut his eyes for longer than a few seconds without having some sort of panic attack. Every fibre of his being would try to warn him that there was  _ someone  _ there, just watching him but of course, that would just be silly. 

The gentle caresses of magic soon returned, the light duvet slowly slipping off his legs and down the side of the bed, and yet, Harry remained painfully oblivious. It was as though his consciousness had shut down for the night, and all guards that he’d mentally built up over the years had been rendered useless. Whatever this was, it knew how to perfectly avoid any triggers that might have woken him up and sent him into a frightened frenzy of aimless attacks. It was only much later that he had begun to notice that something wasn’t quite right here, and even then it was only because he was beginning to feel the cold breeze from outside the hotel. 

The young Lord woke up for a few minutes, if that, only to fall back asleep after he had picked up his duvet, wrapping his entire body with it, hands gripping the material firmly so it wouldn’t slip off again. A frustrated sigh escaped from his lips as an hour or two later, Harry sat up in his bed with a very annoyed expression plastered all over it. It was clear that he wasn’t going to go back to sleep anytime soon, so with a heavy heart, he kicked his legs over the side before reluctantly getting dressed in his travelling attire once more. 

This was much lighter than his original outfit, but he knew that the sun might rise sometime soon, and he wanted to see it rise. After locking his things back in his room, he quietly made his way out of the hotel, not really wanting to disturb any of the other residents who were sleeping. The fresh scent of cement and dust filled his sense with the slightest inhalation - it was quite strong without all of the intense spices from the food stalls to cover it up - so he wasn’t all that surprised.

A handful of new buildings were being constructed a few ways down the road, and they looked to have been around for a few months at least, as there wasn’t any commotion with the locals about it. He knew back in Britain, especially among the muggles, people would often complain about new buildings and construction sites blocking off the roads, but there was none of that in this town - or at least, there hadn’t been a slight comment all day. 

As if almost in a daze, he began to walk around the borders of the town with nothing more than the clothes on his back and a few essentials in a small satchel that he had managed to grab on his way out. It was more than enough to last him till sunrise, but he suspected that he would come back to the hotel much sooner than that, if the temperature got any cooler. Despite it having only been a day, Harry already found himself accustomed to the hot climate - even a slight breeze would have him shuddering in discomfort. He carefully cast a temporary heating charm around his body, immediately becoming much more comfortable with the extra warmth. If it was still cold later on, he’d just have to renew it, wouldn’t he?

_ “Ha--rr..y~” _

He faltered, his tanned skin suddenly paling as he tensely turned his head in what appeared to be the direction the voice came from. He would have continued on his merry way if it wasn’t for the fact that the voice sounded frighteningly familiar, and if it hadn’t been so early in the morning. No one else was out at this time of night, and even if they were, they wouldn’t be so far out into the outskirts of the town. 

The corners of his lips curled down in displeasure as his gaze landed into the mass of palm trees that obscured anything behind it from sight. Without realising it, he began to notice that he was moving in that very same direction, something within him oddly curious to see where that voice led. He lifted up his wand, ready to cast a  _ Protego  _ should he need one, but kept his eyes wide open for any sudden movements. The darkness of the night didn’t seem to let up, and only really began darker the further Harry weaved himself in between the continuous rows of trees. 

It was like the forbidden forest, except he was grossly underprepared for what awaited him. Perhaps it would have been a good idea for him to look up the kinds of magical beasts that you could find in Egypt. Yes, hindsight was quite a bitch, but he had already made it so far in, he was hardly going to go back? ‘ _ Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness, _ ’ or not. He was a Gryffindor through and through and he would be damned before he ran away from just a couple of magical beasts. “Looks like nobody’s stepped a foot in here in centuries-” he muttered to himself, words just little more than whisper.

Harry watched as his breath condensed before him, before warily renewing his heating charm with something a little more permanent and stronger. The further he walked, the darker it got and he was now beginning to get a little worried. Surely, he should reach the end of the little forest soon? There was nothing on his more modern maps that even hinted on all this vegetation, especially in this particular area, and he knew that he hadn’t misread it. Otherwise there would have been many more people trying to forage for potion ingredients. 

Speaking of ingredients, he had no clue what kind of plants were poisonous and which weren’t and this very fact made him quite nervous and a little edgy. It was then that the realisation of him being a sleep deprived young man with clear issues wandering around alone in foreign territory and a lack of supplies did he think he was actually in trouble. For someone who was so paranoid, he was quite slow at processing long-term dangerous situations, wasn’t he? It was only really when he was in imminent danger that he was actually careful, but other than that, it was a fairly common occurrence for him to find himself in the midst of some sort of danger.

His nose prickled as it picked up a foreign scent, cheeks taking on a sickly pallor as his gaze landed upon a culture of mushrooms rooted at the base of a few tree trunks. The putrid smell emitting from them made the contents of Harry’s stomach churn in disgust, and suddenly he was regretting eating all of that food a while ago. It added a sort of a heavy weight to the pits of his gut which he hadn’t really felt since his first year at Hogwarts, and that was due to years of being refused a decent amount of food. 

Even while he was on the run, having enough to eat wasn’t really a problem, surprisingly enough. No- there was always plenty to eat, or maybe it just seemed like a lot when even Ron often lost his appetite for food. Despite the nausea welling up in his throat, he continued to march forward, ducking and weaving in between low branches. The mixture of sand, mud and something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger one had squelched unpleasantly beneath the soles of his shoes as though it had been raining non-stop. 

Unless somehow, he hadn’t noticed heavy downpour from within the hotel, he highly doubted it had rained in a while so there must be some sort of enchantment at play. Perhaps someone else stumbled across this particular forest in their travels, just as he had, and thought it a pity to see such vast and unique foliage dry up in the relentless heat and placed up a variant of  _ Aguamenti  _ to keep them hydrated? 

Or maybe there was a much more ancient sort of magic which nourished the soil and kept the plants thriving. 

Harry was a naturally curious wizard so it was quite a wonder how he hadn’t even been considered for Ravenclaw at all, but even after all these years of being surrounded by blundering fools who could care less about their grades (himself included, of course) his fascination with the unknown had never once threatened to dim. Variables which he had never accounted for had always intrigued him, after all. 

One couldn’t be chased by those stronger than him his entire life,  _ and live to tell the tale,  _ without having some sort of  _ consequence evaluation  _ about him. Awareness of your situation, the probabilities on how certain people may or may not react in suit to his decisions - it was a constant source of struggle that he had to deal with, and while he had tried to let loose for a while after coming to Hogwarts, he was roped back into all the business by  _ his royal darkness,  _ he thought to himself sourly.

At the beginning of his life, it was the little things - and far, far simpler.  _ Keep out of sight so that Dudley doesn’t see you. If you do that, you avoid him for the whole day and there are no problems there. Don’t keep out of sight, however, and be chased around the entire front garden and then possibly up a tree- don’t come down - miss you chores, get hit by either Petunia or Vernon, get locked in the cupboard for another week or two, and get nothing more than scraps to eat.  _ Back then - it was much easier to stand aside and let things run its course so that it would have as little effect on him as possible. 

But coming to Hogwarts and being introduced to the Wizarding World was nothing like that. Not even remotely.

For starters, he didn’t have the option to stand aside and go unnoticed like he had done for the past couple of years because while he was suffering under the abusive hands of the Durselys, the entirety of Wizarding Society had been too busy idolising his name and what it represented to have even cast a glance in his direction. Ten whole years of an entire society obsessively glorifying his past had  _ altered  _ something in their minds. As though he were nothing but a living myth. ‘ _ Harry defeated You-Know-Who -  _ **_of course_ ** _ nothing bad would happen to him! _ ’ nevermind the fact that he was quite literally a babe when it happened. He had nothing to his name except for some ridiculous prophecy that had utterly sabotaged, for him, any chance of happiness. 

The Durselys had  _ ruined  _ him. 

The War had  _ broken  _ him.

And  _ they?  _ They defiled his name.  _ Dragged his will through the mud, and hoisted him up from the gallows by his broken neck. Filled his lungs with Fiendfyre and blackened his heart with the darkest of magicks in order to forge those manacles out of his very own magic-  _ **and for what?**

He turned to slam his fist into a nearby trunk, noting with grim satisfaction the pain that shot up his arm, but also the dent he had made in the bark. He had been so blind-sighted by the fact that he could no longer hide that he forgot to see if there was any other way out. Lips trembling, he strained himself for a pathetically weak smile as he pressed his forehead against the tree. “ _ They’ve crippled me- _ ” He mustered with a suspiciously shaky voice, the sound high and measly when compared to the deafening silence of the forest. It emphasised the grief which had seemed to encompass his entire soul, but why did he still feel so hollow? Sometimes, he wished that the hadn’t saved himself from those dementors all those years ago-

“gGHh-!” A choked gasp pierced the air as he felt frigidly glacial hands grasp the sides of his torso in such a steely grip, he would have broken a bone if he had tried to resist. Harry would have also turned around to face his assailant had it not been for the group of arrows that had suddenly lodged themselves in where he had stood moments prior. The fingers dug into his skin harshly that he almost expected it to breach his tissues and puncture his organs, but all they caused was a dull, throbbing pain. The touch sent an unsettling chill which seemed to pierce through his pain, and it felt that he had somehow apparated to some arctic desert rather than being stranded in some hot and humid forest. Harry gasped out in pain as the strength of the grip had only increased, keeping his back pressed against the hard chest of the hostile.

The second it eased, he forced himself to pivot around and flicked his wand into his hand, an  _ Expelliarmus  _ dancing on his tongue-

-only for no one to be stood there.

There was no magic in the atmosphere except for the remnants he had sensed when he had first stepped inside of the forest, and his own mana which tended to float about him like a cloak. There was no person around.  _ Not even any animal. _

The iron grip of his wand had only tightened - though losing his wand at this point wouldn’t have made much of a difference at this point. A cold bead of sweat rolled down the side of his head as he whipped his head back to look at the arrows, whose heads were glinting sharply under the beams of moonlight.  _ What the hell? _

There appeared to be no signs of wear, so they were probably new.  _ Or they just  _ _ looked _ _ to be new.  _ His gaze narrowed in on the wood the arrows were attached to - the carving was something practically prehistoric in design - somewhat akin to the barely legible runic combination he had seen written in the older books he had found in the Black Library. 

Arrow heads made out of bones, if what he remembered from past rituals he had been subjected to remained true. - _ Bone of the Father, unknowingly given. You will renew your son!-  _ Harry shuddered at the gravelly echo of Pettigrew’s voice. The words were practically engraved into his mind, which was expected since it was such a traumatising situation at the time. 

A look of consideration crossed his face as he briefly circled the area, still maintaining a safe distance. 

For all he knew, the arrows could be as old as this very forest. But defensive charms still activating even after what seems to be centuries of abandonment? After giving the arrows an appraising look, he decided it wasn’t a good idea to stay in the same area after so long. Who knows how many more traps had been placed about? 

Hair plastered to his forehead, he looked up to what seemed like endless trunks and branches, not a single patch of sky visible. So how on Earth was he supposed to navigate himself around the forest if he had no bloody map to help him? A grumble of discomfort was lost to the mild rustling of leaves and chirping of numerous crickets. If only he had listened to Hermione when she had tried to get both himself and Ron familiar with navigation spells all those years ago. 

With a heavy heart, and the slight pang of homesickness slipping into his unusually grim face , he carefully began to trek through the foliage. 

~

Minutes had passed. Probably hours. Harry didn’t remember how long he had been walking around the forest, only that he had seen the same set of flowers decorating a singular trunk for what may possibly have been the sixteenth time that night. Again, Harry didn’t know - he had lost count a long while ago. 

Cold sweat had dried and plastered his clothes against his skin, and it seemed that no matter how often he casted a freshening charm, he would find himself feeling just as filthy as he had moments prior. His lips pulled into a tight grimace as he realised that he hadn’t felt so filthy since his Hogwarts letter had arrived. 

It seemed that this forest seemed to be leading him to the same thoughts over and over again as well- this was the second time he had caught himself thinking of his less than savoury childhood. 

As much as he would’ve liked to continue wandering around in circles, he found that his legs were thrumming with fatigue, and the soles of his feet burning with each step, so he eventually settled down.

The back of his head pressed lightly against the surprisingly cool bark of the tree. The heat of the atmosphere that was stifling him just earlier seemed to ease up, if only just enough to help him relax. 

The hairs raised on his skin as a sudden, yet welcome breeze brushed past him, cooling him down almost immediately.

This was fine. This was  _ lovely,  _ even. He obviously didn’t get much sleep earlier, but now seemed like quite the opportune moment to catch up on it. At the back of his mind, he was screaming that ‘No, this isn’t a good idea. What idiot sleeps in the middle of nowhere without having at least some protections around?! _ ’  _ And Harry was inclined to agree that little wayward thought because ‘Yes, because what idiot would do such a thing?’ _.  _ But as his eyelids fluttered closed against his will,  _ even  _ as he caught a glimpse of a blurry figure cautiously walking towards him, he realised, ‘ _ Oh _ , I’m that idiot-’

He would've thought that this was the end of him, if it had not been the fact that his consciousness remained and thus he could hear every single noise and sensation. A damn shame that he still couldn't move or even speak, so a fat lot of good actually being awake did him. 

Sleep paralysis, some people called it. Was this really just a case of sleep paralysis? He thought that it was just a hallucination that he should've been experiencing, and if that was the case - what was this firm grip on his body? What was this sensation of being picked off from the ground, and being held even more tightly to - to what seemed to be the chest of this figure. 

Before he could work himself into another mini panic attack like earlier, he forced himself to just pause and review all knowledge he had of this- this  _ spectre _ . The last time he had run into It, or what he assumed to have been It, it was when he was being pushed out of the way of a swarm of arrows that looked to have been laced with something that Harry hadn't recognised. So really, was this being all that hostile? 

The only thing that was comforting him at this very moment was the very familiar weight and sensation of his wand which was still safely hidden in his holster.

Had Harry been in control of his body, he would've frozen from the sound of It's breathy laugh. More like a huff than anything else, really. And it sounded oh so  _ very fond _ . As though It had known him for years, and he had cracked some sort of miserable, morbid joke that usually got laughs or a chuckle out of his friends during the war. 

Soon following the small chuckle was a string of words that he could not for the life of him understand, however he recognised that it was the language that all the locals had been speaking, but somehow still so very different to what he had grown accustomed to hearing during his visit.

A short moment of shuffling, with the faint susurration of clothing, he was side-alonged to God knows where and the overwhelming panic that he had sussed down earlier was back with a certain ferocity now. 

Heart thudding in his chest, he let out a choked breath, “K-khh..” and with a start, began to writhe in the stranger’s arms the second he had gained some modicum of feeling within his limbs. 

Another fond huff of laughter.

Harry cried out in distress, but the sound died halfway as his legs and arms grew heavy with non-existent weight. A tingle of oddly familiar magic spread across the lids of his eyes, allowing him no chance of opening his eyes. 

With each caress of magic followed another set of weights on his body, before eventually they grew limp, prising another sound of discomfort from his lips - sounding more like a muffled sob more than anything else. 

To his horror, the  _ thing  _ chuffed and crooned in the same language from earlier, running its fingers soothingly through Harry's hair as if It were trying to comfort him. As though It hadn't just kidnapped him. Dread began to settle in the very pit of his gut when he realised just why the Thing's magic seemed so familiar to him. 

After all, it was the very magic that had lured him out into this forest in first place. 

It was so very obviously a trap - why hadn't he figured that out earlier? So what if the magic felt like his own? So what if the magic made him feel right at home like the wards of Hogwarts did? It wasn't like he hadn't been misled or betrayed before, so why did this feel like something entirely new?

With one final push of magic, his head lolled to the side, completely limp. Before the burn of strain could even be noticed, It’s hand came up behind to better support him. The gesture would have been sweet if Harry actually consented to everything going on, but alas he, he did not.

Embarrassingly enough, he wasn’t all too surprised that he had ended up kidnapped. In fact, he was subconsciously expecting something of the sort to happen. He just wondered which of the locals would actually attempt to ‘off him’. Whoever It was, they clearly didn’t do their research beforehand. He was a ‘kill-on-sight’ kind of wizard and it was not just because he was dangerous, but because of the simple fact that he was known to escape any situation relatively unscathed, as improbable as it was.

First year encounter with Quirrell and Voldemort, second year facing off with a horcrux and a Basilisk and destroying both of them- so on and so forth. But then again, the Killing Curse wasn’t known to work on him either so maybe these dark wizards ought to try something new and more liable to stick.

Despite the clearly unconscious body and the near crippling amount of lethargy he felt, his mind was whirring with countless scenarios - escape plans and the like. 

In fact, he was so distracted by his own thoughts that he hadn’t even felt his body being placed down on what felt like marble flooring. Nor did he hear the footsteps growing more and more distant with each passing minute. Not until he could finally open up his eyes.

Years of experience had forced him to keep his eyes shut, and to slow his breathing down to what would have been deemed normal for a sleeping person. Harry tested the strength of his fingers and the feeling in his legs, tensing his muscles a few times just to make sure that he had control of his body. 

He needn’t have worried though as when he ‘woke up’, It was nowhere to be seen. With great effort he pushed himself up from the ground to a weary stand, luminous green eyes piercing through the darkness.

Harry narrowed his eyes, raising his hand to cast the wand lighting charm- but before he could even bother, the torches attached to the walls flared to life one by one, eventually lighting up what appeared to be a rather grand foyer. He didn’t dare move, but instead chose to look around before even attempting to get out and back to the hotel.

“...And...who might you be, dear?” The voice was hesitant, yet welcoming and warm but he wasn’t one to be drawn in with sweet fronts, so his expression remained rather harsh with his wand raised as he turned around. His gaze locked onto the portrait behind him.

“Harry Potter..” He responded warily, now only taking notice that he was before an entire wall of portraits. The portrait before him was of a young man, who looked awfully familiar now that he thought about it, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on where he recognised him from.

“Potter…?” A few murmurs of confusion from the surrounding portraits. “..Not Peverell then?-”

At this, his wand faltered until he eventually decided to place it back into his holster. Harry looked at the portrait appraisingly, eyes narrowed in suspicion for a minute before he relaxed his gaze. “The Potters are the direct descendants of Ignotus Peverell, if that’s what you’re asking.” Whatever tension in the atmosphere was there had immediately dissipated at those words, much to his confusion but of course he wouldn’t complain. It would be difficult to leave if they were all hostile towards him.

“Ah, finally! A sign that the Peverell live and are going strong!” The man cheered, an elated grin spreading across his face.

“Hurrah!!” 

“As if we would die off!”

“Bah- did I not say you were all worrying for naught?”

“I’m the last Peverell.” Harry stated plainly, effectively cutting off any more cheers of happiness. “The Potters were always a small family. My parents were murdered when I was a babe by a Dark Lord. Said Dark Lord was the last of the Gaunt line, which were the direct descendants of Cadmus Peverell. The Dark Lord had been planning my very own death since before I was born, so I ended up killing him little over a week ago.” 

More silence.

“Thus leaving me as the last Peverell…”

The silence was broken by deafening roars of anger and disbelief.

The man in front of him seemed particularly aghast at this revelation, seeming to grow pale. “My own brother’s line..? And Antioch died before he could sire a child of his own--”

“May I ask who you are..?” Harry managed to keep his voice somewhat gentle and polite, considering the upsetting information that he had just hoisted up on all these people, er well,  _ portraits _ . The man mustered a weak smile, straightening up within his frame and acting far more humanoid than any portrait had a right to be. 

“Ignotus Peverell, child. Or your many times great grandfather-”


End file.
